No More Shadows

Levin Velodrome #1

2012-01-26T21:37:00.003+13:00

"We'll be there to help you have another day in the sun."
Tim Neal. (Friend and fellow endurance cyclist - These words meant a lot and still do).

So here I am. Again. The start of the journey. This journey. Not to Taupo. No. In a year I would sometimes rather look beyond - Last year - As painful as it was at times, I took the time to learn. It would be fair to say I have a new outlook. A new approach. Taupo then can wait - As it should - 'Taupo' will remain (for me) to be multiple laps of the Great Lake. This task needs completing first.

If the time trial is the 'race of truth', then the velodrome is the 'moment of truth'. No excuses, no bullshit, and no room for ever looking beyond the next 20 yards of track. Living in nothing more than right now.

This outing was not the first on the velodrome this season, but it was not taken lightly. "Hit the numbers or walk away", I thought as I looked down the track. Lightly then, I pedalled towards the white line…and wound it up. It was like taking off. Like the first two lengths of a swim session, when you are flying, and everything is effortless, and even breathing is simply done out of habit. Yes. Like swimming. Only better.

The day would choose to be a moderately windy one, but this would simply mean a greater effort. So it would be then, that I would drift away, into my place where focus meets unfixed attention - Where my thoughts roam. Among my wonderings was the scenario of a truck crashing into the velodrome's stadium. This was followed by the obvious question, "Is there enough space for the fire appliance to drive onto the track, with me still having enough room to continue the laps??". It turns out I do - In my mind at least. On this ride.

The last 30 minutes then. And nicely timed, a groundsman is trimming the grass verge of the velodrome, then blowing the cuttings off the track. I passed him 18 times before he finished. Not that the figure means anything. The important numbers had been ticked off. With thoughts of being pleased leaving me after a short while, and my only thought as I finished the ride being, "What can I do to go faster??".

So it would be then - In the year 2012 - my journey would be continuing. If I am prepared to hit the numbers, then this goal remains realistic.

One key difference between this year and the last is this - My world is a section of track 20 yards ahead of me for 24 hours. That point will not escape me this time. Not caught up anymore than needed in what happens before or after. Not caught up in the hype. Not caught up in anything that removes my gaze from that small section of asphalt. No. One focus.

So laid bare then. It's not about laps or kms or records or legs being sore or being the best. It is about staring ahead and knowing that if I slow down, then everything is gone. That is the purpose - for one day to have no yesterday and no tomorrow - only right now. And once again. Living.

Finally then, it dawned on me nearer the end of a ride the other day, that this journey is not in fact the start. That was in 2005. When I truly started. Clueless and overweight. And yet even then I was supported by others. This is for you then - This is for everyone who got told they couldn't do it, for everyone who woke up feeling fat and later heard a throwaway comment that confirmed it, and everyone who has been out cycling and needed encouragement - but instead simply saw a motorist flip the bird in your direction. Yes. This is for you. My words of advice are simple, but read them twice - "There is always hope".

No Stopping
On and on - Focused.
Eating this road before me.
I am the Pac Man.

Aka's Return

2012-01-13T18:07:00.005+13:00

"I find motivation everywhere".
Jure Robic. (Two time RAAM winner). RIP.

31 Dec - It would seem fitting that this year would end with a return to the Aka's loop. Fitting also that the weather would turn to crap. Likewise, it would sum up this year that within an hour of the ride starting - on this last day of the year - that the 500kms (and 6,000 ascended meters) would catchup with me. This loop is many things, but subtle it is not.

With the Maungtuks climbs behind me for this week, I had experienced the best weather seen in the region since February, and even had a suntan for the first time since March. Successive days of multi-hour hill climbs left me happy with the world, and feeling that this holiday was finally a productive one.

The Aka's loop awaited. Just one lap. So not an epic outing. 'Easy Pace'. Nothing too adventurous. But having ridden it the day before, I would have been arrogant to see this ride as an understatement. So one ride left for the year. One last outting then.

The weather changed. Gone was the sunshine. I would be soaked before I even got to the base of Paek. Hill, and the screaming headwind left me feeling jaded by the time I started the first climb of the day. No stopping though - Not this time. This hill has claimed me just the once, and this circuit will be mine. Too much happened in August - too much in 2011 - for me to second guess this day.

Later. Half way up the Aka's climb. I felt better. Then good. Then great. The rain now had a life of its own. Large dops of water landing, as if falling through trees, and there was no sign of the downpour stopping. No sign of me stopping - either. On this day of wind and rain and climbs. And solitude.

Gone were the memories of this circuit meaking me it's bitch. One day I'll do the Aka's Quadruple loop - And while I acknowledge that this day's ride was an understated effort to finish off the year, I know that the biggest year of my life is ahead of me. Yes. 2012 is finally here.

I love the feeling at the start. But this is a different level again. The day awaits. Still. And while many are focused on new activities - I am not. The goal remains the same. Truth be known I am sure of where the forthcoming year will take me...but little else. But this is 2012, and in a year where anything is possible that is enough. My arena awaits. Our arena - For those helping me on this great journey against the clock. Against my self belief. And also for my self belief.

If I die this coming year, then bury me facing east so I can watch the sun come up. If I make it, then I hope it was with your help - This journey will be one to remember for all the right reasons. Kia Kaha.

Back
Moving only forwards.
The New Year will bring me hope.
Hope that lives in me.

Cooked...

2011-09-21T16:48:00.003+12:00

28.2 - This number recalled before, during, and after every ride. Compared and contrasted. The average speed needed, and not that fast, if you can ride faster than that - forever. This new currency then will wait though.

Where was the beginning of the end?? Possibly several hundred yards after the turnoff from SH2 as you begin along the Akatarawa Road, where I was turned inside out for reasons still unknown. Maybe in the snow that was ridden through with great excitement, and later left me sick again. Perhaps on Paekakariki Hill, where I turned back early from a ride for the first time ever. More likely somewhere along the way though, like any moment of any day where my body refused to recover. Or couldn't, if wouldn't seems a little harsh.

Pushing on though, with the support of some, the silence of many, and the cutting comments of a few. Negative souls were seldom encountered, but they always seemed to appear when I needed them the least. I suspect one lesson I learned this year, among the many, is to cut my loses on those would see me go up in flames on the bridges they chose to burn. Diplomatic comments have their uses, but I have finally learnt that a simple "Fuck off" (in one of the many subtle guises it can come in), is the tool best employed for those who do not stand in your way, so much as actively build walls to stop you. Or try to in any case.

And then there was the track. Taupo's velodrome is not 333.3 meters long. Nor is it lap after lap. The velodrome is an endless road. Always flat, which contrasts beautifully with the mountains of my mind. Adventures on the bike pursued in an arena - Both figuratively and literally. With food and drink only ever one short lap away. And there are never those pesky cars to contend with, with their agendas often seen as more important as yours, simply because they are bigger. Potholes conspicuous by their absence also. Likewise, even the groups of cyclists, never sure whether to acknowledge a cyclist on a time trial bike. "How can they be a roadie on a bike designed to be ridden away from others??" they possibly ask themselves.

As the days grew longer, the weeks grew shorter. Until one day I rode with my son. A two hour ride with a boy of just ten. He was full of vigour on this epic outing - At his pace. We returned home and he went to play at a friends house, and took with him both his youth and his 'sore legs'. I simply took the opportunity to have a sleep, and knew that all was not right in the world that day. Or many leading up to it. For me at least.

In a world of 9/11's, famines, earthquakes, wars, and recessions...which collectively seem to have shrunken our 'global village', I make no apology for striving to gain a competitive edge within a sporting context. It has always seemed a little more relevant than dreams of flying to the moon or making my 'first million dollars', and perhaps striving towards the finish line is more exciting too, if you happen to finish first.

But no. Sports is two things only - Winning and losing. Nothing more. Nothing less. You can explain away the inches that made the difference in any game, but they are simply words. Even emotion is a yard stick for how you fair. Just two outcomes exist.

Amongst this uncertainty has been support. Firstly, the unwavering friendship and support from Rachael Verry at Hammer Nutrition. Through Enduro's, Maxi Enduro's, the Ironman, and multiple Graperide Ultimate's I have carried on with my sanity and self belief tested - But never my fuelling. Secondly, the support crew. A personal thanks to a number of people who wanted to help, wanted to be a part of the Record Ride 2011, and possibly feel that they didn't end up helping. They did. A lot. On many crisp cold mornings and later through the clammy chilly evenings I carried on. Riding. Sometimes thinking there was a blur between one day and the next - perhaps because there was - and those who wanted to give up their time, to help me, would be thought of. A sincere thank you to Adrian McKenzie, Chris Downs, Murray Downs, Paul Rawlinson, Bronwyn Jones, Matthew Oliver, Tim Neal, Lis Gibbs, and Jacky James. Thank you also to the Kapiti Cycling Club, for offering to loan me the timing equipment that would ensure that my ride would be one of integrity. Lastly, the biggest gratitude is reserved for my wife - Who puts up with my endless chats about the adventures to be had…and then the journeys that follow.

So no tapering, or racing, or highlights on the endless day. But recovery needed just the same. How odd that seems. To reach the end without the journey somehow completed. For now at least. So, it would seem that 28.2 will need to wait. That average speed, which is not that fast - if you can go faster than that forever. That would have been quite some battle. The race to the finish. The race of my life. Fittingly, against no one but myself.

But the day arrived when I knew the time had passed. Without recovery there would be no gains, and I pulled the pin on this ride that means so much. The impending house of cards did not come tumbling down around me however. Instead, I felt a great weight was lifted, and knew the right choice had been made. But 'yes', there also existed a nagging feeling...and it wasn't winning. But motivation is a tool, and I would have ample supplies once I had gotten through this drunken stupor that is fatigue.

Life's journey will continue, and with it I will no doubt pick new challenges that will have my full attention while I strive towards them. A lesson I have learned from this year is that on any given day I am any mans equal. This realisation took a number of years for me to fully grasp, but has left me with peace of mind. It has also left me knowing what I can achieve, with good health and a support network fitting the outing being embraced. But not this year.

So with all of this behind me I found myself driving home from work. No commute by bike on this day. No sea breeze filling all my senses. No unexpected moments of bliss coming to me like small wrapped presents, meaning nothing 'til thought of later. Driving home then, and seeing the setting sun, orange and puffy, behind the clouds. And lingering. Not diving from the sky to sea. Instead drowning, almost. As if hanging onto this day with all its strength. This day that had been thought about so much. This day that had been named. But this day was done, and the sun had lived it's day - regardless of how long its light had gotten through the darkened clouds and mists, that covered this spring day. A false spring if winter was anything to go by.

The sun's glow would be gone soon enough then, and with it the night's arrival. Rest would follow. And then - then dawn. Clean and bright and fresh and crisp and new. I didn't linger on the sunset, but I gave thought to the morning that would follow. The morning to follow my rest.

The Commute by Snow

2011-09-09T17:42:00.003+12:00

It doesn't snow in Kapiti. Or at least it didn't, until the winter of 2011. After biding my time, I thus decided that this rare treat would be fully embraced, and I therefore setoff (on a day that would end with sleet and snow), with clear skies and a crisp dry morning.

I would also have fingers with only partial feeling - They still hadn't come right after a prolonged snow fight with the children the previous afternoon - up the Maungtuks. We had driven up, not cycled.

Not on the road bike on this day. No. Not on the road either. With ice and snow in this corner of the world I setoff on my mountain bike, and have to admit to being a tad disappointed about the lack of snow on the ride through to work. Plenty to see though, to be sure, with the view of the hills between Kapiti and Pukerua Bay utterly surreal - Snow capped hills had never been seen on this stretch of road, and I marvelled at how a journey I had made so many times by bike had never looked quite like this.

I had also never cycled right through Queen Elizabeth Park. First one through the narrow walkway tracks on this day, breaking the icy puddles as I rode on, and riding over a couple of sections of black ice, albeit at slow speed - all without incident.

On this cold morning I was warm, with eight layers of clothing, and arriving at work I felt short changed - as I did all day long. The skies were clear and the previously seen forecast of sleet seemed nothing more than a tease. Our office had windows opened, and the mood was a good one. It seemed my opportunity had passed me by - the commute by snow.

At 2pm however I went to get my jacket and reflective gear off the bike. And it was cold. I mean REALLY cold. I got back to my desk and was shivering, and was relieved I had plenty of layers, and also spare clothes, that would be worn also. At 3pm the dark clouds finally arrived. At 3:30pm the rain started, and while slowly at first, the rain was constant after a short while. By 3:50 it was heavy, with wettened snowflakes amongst the drops of rain. I setoff not sure what to expect, but open minded to the adventure ahead of me.

For someone wanting a warm comfortable commute home this ride would be hell. Soaked through before I had even gotten to through Mana, I was grateful of the layers being worn, and turned off to climb over Airlie Road. The rain set in on the long gradual ascent. Rain ran down my arms and into my gloves. Otherwise I had no sensation of the wet, as I was soaked through. Looking ahead I simply pedalled towards the top of this hill. The view at the top was no more special than the other times I had ascended this hill. No less special however. A wet descent and wetter ride home thereafter awaited me. A commute by bike - mileage to be ridden.

Sometimes in this life we have moments that are unexpected. Our souls touched, albeit it briefly. And we remember why we are here. Cycling up Pukerua Bay Hill the rain suddenly stopped, and the snow became heavier than before. Heavier than I had ever seen - even when experiencing two English winters. The larger flakes were no longer melting on the road, and instead collecting on everything. The hills went out of view, then visibility cut down to 100 meters, then 50 meters, then 20 meters. Everything was white, and snow was all I could see. "This is so awesome!!" I said out loud. I opened my mouth and let the snow flakes land where ever they wished. The term 'Winter Wonderland' seems contrite, but in this rare moment it explains perfectly what was around me.

Reaching the top of the hill I knew the descent would see the snow gone, and rain replace everything that seemed to be magical. It did. A wet ride continued there after. Not before I noted that my wind breaker was covered in a layer of ice and snow. Even the gears and handlebars on the bike had a film of chilled water across everything. Lazy snow landed on me from that point onwards. If the theme of the morning ride had been one of a cool, crisp, dry ride, then the theme riding home had been one of sleet, snow, and rain.

Riding along Centennial Highway I got an 'ice cream headache' from the cold, and by now had lost the feeling in my feet. I was happy though. Happy with this world, and where I was in it at that point in time. Enduros, Maxi Enduros, Graperide Ultimates and the like were special days in my life, but rides such as this one were pure gold for my soul. THIS is why I ride. The rain was here to give me puddles to ride through. The hills were to give me a better view. The cold was nothing more than reference for the warmth I'd experience once reaching home. Yes. This was a special ride.

Full pace through QE2 Park during a raining twilight was to follow. No one walking their dog, running leisurely, or wandering through the tracks for their afternoon's exercise. No. At home. Tucked up. And safe. The whole lot of them. Safe from the dangers of this wind and rain and views they'll never see. The real world - Unspoiled by the editing and Photo Shopping we normally have to endure - Instead, real and gritty. And occasionally containing the discomforts many see as hardships. I sailed down a hill at full speed and hit a puddle 30 meters long. Water everywhere and I turned to my right for the final portion of my Commute by Snow. Onto the road once again. Slower than normally experienced on the road bike, but always moving forwards. I was cold, but I was happy.

Finally then, sopping wet I turned into my street and arrived home. The rain pounded our house, and I put the bike away before finally being back in the warmth. Having ridden to work and back over 450 times I looked back on this experience with wonderment. Those moments cycling up Pukerua Bay were utterly magical. The silence, stillness, and complete whiteout had me believing this moment was purely for me. And in many ways it was - Viewed as it was meant to be viewed - Within the image. Art in it's most real form.

In this very special year I am reminded that there are many ways to travel your journey. It turns out that it does snow in Kapiti. Thus, I am also shown that the unexpected occurs at times, and this is not always a bad thing. Not in the long run. Not if you get to your goal better and stronger for the experience. So I remind myself that not having a perfect season of training is ok, as long as the journey still finds its way to the place you need to be.

These last few months have been trying to say the least. Some days have been so hard. I have become aware of the mental hardships faced by those who put themselves into the public view, while pursuing a rare goal. Illness, setbacks, non-believers - all coming to the fore, and often when I've needed it the least. But positive days like this remind me that if you are prepared to experience the riches that are all around us, then anything is possible…and occasionally you'll be reminded that there exists light at the end of the tunnel.

Throughout the darkened winter months I needed to remember the key aspect of this ride - Motivation, self belief, and being surrounded by those who want to help. Those who wanted to join me on this journey. This is truly the narrow path…this is the Record Ride.

'Quieter Moments'
Many curse this rain.
Snow is everywhere I can see.
Riding through magic.

.

.

.

Aka's Double Loop

2011-07-21T13:55:00.005+12:00

It would be fair to say that July started with some wild weather. The Kapiti Coast had it's far share of the wetter weather, with lightening strikes and even a tornado hitting the coast. These events effected roads I cycle on a regular basis, closing some and damaging others - fortunately I wasn't on them at the time. Stories included a 20,000 litre water tanked being shifted off its base during one storm. The water tank was full. Worse happened elsewhere in the country I'm sure. I carried on though, never stopping, towards this goal of mine. This goal of many as it turns out.

The support I have received has been humbling, both from those willing to help out with the fundraising, and also those wanting to help with being involved with the record ride support crew. These people - in the darker days of my training, with no crowds, no cheers, and no fanfare - these people put their hands up and said 'Yes - I'm behind you'. Names are noted for schedules, and are also 'noted' in the larger meaning of the word. Many years from now I'll likely recall these names with greater fondness than the achievements I was helped towards.

"July"
Rain runs down my back.
During this storm that finds me.
My belief found too.

The Aka's Double loop was very much looked forward to for this season. Kicking things off in 2007 (as I trained for the Taupo Enduro), I have always looked ahead towards rides that encompass multiple laps of the 95km loop. This ride would be no different, and in the weeks leading up to this ride I sometimes wondered what may lay ahead for me on this occasion. The two bridges that link the settlements throughout the Akatarawa's are currently gone - repairs are afoot to replace them. I'm certain small nations have been invaded, inhabited, and repopulated in the time it has taken the contractors to do bugger all in those sections of road. Cyclists are not complaining though, as this all means closed roads and thus a safer journey towards home on each outing.

So it was then, that shortly before 6am I setoff for my outing. Not epic, not 16 hours, not a ride to Taupo or the Four Hills - But long enough. It was pitch dark on SH1 and I managed to get into a good rhythm very quickly, with the knowledge that Ruth had work later in the day, so time couldn't be wasted. This journey though would have a number of speed bumps, and the first one was me reaching for the Hammer Perp as I neared MacKay's Crossing. My hand reached down to the empty drink bottle holder, and 'yes' I quickly realised that I had just joined the 'forget your drinks on a long ride' club. "Dammit!!", I said out loud. This annoyed me for two reasons. Firstly, I needed t go back home to get the bottle, and secondly I would never again be able to say (with a righteous tone of voice), "How the hell can you forget drinks on a long ride??".

Drink collected, I setoff - Again. A bit more of a rushed feel now, but time still on my side. I passed the spot I had turned back previously, and pushed on towards Paek. Hill. Then, out of nowhere I hit a mental bar. It was square, so never rolled as I hit it, and I fully expected two punctures from the impact. Pulling over I assessed the damage - Slightly buckled front wheel, and back wheel fine. No punctures followed, and with everything that followed on this day I'd actually have no punctures all day.

The climb up Paek. Hill went fine, and I knew to take it at a reasonably steady pace, as I was carrying all of my drinks for the entire day, so no point in pushing too hard this early. The morning had been a cold start, and a white frost had covered everything around Kapiti. Nearing the top of the climb however I felt a tad foolish for wearing so many layers, and amongst other things had five upper body layers, two pairs of gloves, and two pairs of socks. The descent that followed put this to rest though, as I speed through an ice filled valley, and my extremities once again started to feel the chill. My feet would regain feeling after midday.

Empty - The roads, cafes, and golf courses. Everything seemed attended, and no one else seemed interested in this day just yet. I approached the Haywoods Hill, and recalled the Four Hills ride, where this climb had been an afterthought. I felt pressured to get the tempo riding going and felt good as I sat on an honest heart rate up this hill. The descent was honest too, and once again I few down the Haywoods. All was good, and I gave a friendly wave to the elderly driver who had reached me halfway down the descent, and had then slowed down, allowing me a clean run down the hill.

Swinging left onto SH2 I experienced pure sun strike for the first time ever on a bike. I literally needed to hold my hand up to see the road ahead. After hearing stories about cyclists 'knowing the ride' in these situations, and then cycling into temporary traffic signs, I wasn't taking risks. Reaching Brown Owl corner I was feeling pretty good about the world, although to be honest I was still a little annoyed about forgetting the drink at the start of the ride. I knew what I had done to forget it, and it wouldn't be happening again. Aka's now, and a road closed to vehicles lay ahead.

Starting up the first gentle climb I was cruising and felt great. I looked back to check for traffic and was conscious that my heart was beating hard now. Actually - it was beating really hard. I could feel my mouth taste that lactic acid 'blood' taste you get when sprinting really fast, (which I wasn't), and I coughed as breathing became constricted. What the hell was happening??!!!! Reaching for my helmet strap I thought about untying the strap to loosen the tightness under my chin. My veins on the neck were really pushing into the strap and I figured this wouldn't be wise while cycling. I was still cycling, and as I commented to the doctor several days later "I don't stop for no bastard on these rides".

Looking down at my heart rate monitor for the first time I saw in was sitting on 205 to 208. I'm normally on 135 to 140, and the monitor is accurate. The elevated heart rate remained for about three to four minutes longer, and then dropped back down to the normal heart rate for my cycling. It would transpire that I would have six hours left on this ride, and I was left feeling washed out, hollow, and sick - immediately after the episode, for the remainder of the ride, the rest of the weekend in fact.

The hills were climbed, descents manoeuvred, and flat sections ridden, but I simply thought about getting home. I also pictured at one point an overweight doctor telling me that this journey was over, and in an uncaring manner telling me the words that would convince me that carrying on towards the record ride was no longer an option. These thoughts and images didn't help, and I had a few tears while carrying on. Never feeling rested or experiencing lifted spirits I rode the remainder of the outing flat and empty. Waikanae, Kapiti, passing the mental pipe, climbing and then descending Paek. Hill, same again at the Haywoods Hill, and SH2 (bringing no sun strike this time), and the Aka's once again bringing footbridges and carrying of one's bike through the mud. I was over it and had even considered stopping after one lap.

Getting home with ten minutes to spare before Ruth had work I commented that I 'wasn't right', and explained what had happened. I didn't feel right the following day, and when I awoke on the Monday morning feeling no better I went to the GP. An ECG and blood tests came back aok. No heart attack, no signs of issues, no indication of damage. When getting the results at work the following morning at work I commented to the doctor that I felt a pushing against my heart 24x7. I was very clear that there was no pain at any stage, but just the sensation of a light pushing, and this had existed since the ride on Saturday. I thought this might have gotten me into the specialist (which as the next step - at $450 - for a 'heart echo'), earlier than by Friday…and I guess it did. Next thing I know I was in an ambulance off to A+E, with the on call cardiologist waiting at A+E to check me out. A little OTT if you ask me.

So an x-ray, heart monitoring equipment, and a series of specialist blood tests. I said to the cardiologist what I was training for, and said I wanted a green light or red light - not a question mark hanging over things. The doctor said he had dealt with athletes with this issue a few times, and with everything coming back looking 100% ok he suspected it was viral. The pushing on the heart, especially when leaning forward is consistent with some viral conditions - apparently. Otherwise the tests were 100% ok. No issues, no scarring, and no $450 heart 'echo test' now needed…as it transpires I had a better test done at the hospital for free. The staff were bloody good every single one of them.

I was told to nothing until the following Monday. I knew he had dealt with athletes when he said, "No cycling for three to five days…and this also means no running…and no swimming either. No training. Ok??". He then said nothing and looked at me waiting for a response. I concurred with this approach, and he said one more ECG would be done, and if all good I could be on my way. Had about 30 minutes before I left the hospital and this gave me plenty of time to think about the road ahead. "Green light or red". Who really chooses these paths we walk?? We do. I thought about not carrying on. Maybe I could thank the supporters, find some kind of irony in the fundraising being for Kids@Heart, and my issues, and then I could wrap things up - Being happy with these last few years of journeys and events and training and friendships formed with kindred spirits. Then a new life…without the record ride.

I then thought about this ride ahead of me, knowing that walking away would leave me unfilled. This is the exact reason why motivation has never been an issue for me - this feeling of needing more. I know that this ride is enough. It would be my last overnight ride, and commutes to work (when they happened) would revert to one hour leisurely escapes from my working day.

Looking then, I thought about 'green'. The green light then, maybe I would look towards this room in front of me and would find a sign. This journey's path being in my hands. Yes. Yes indeed. This room had some green. Here and there. Around the edges, and maybe more, if I looked hard enough. The life I had before would return soon enough - The ordinary life - where greater goals were behind me, and my biggest challenge would be reminding myself that sometimes it's ok to take part for the enjoyment of it. In that moment I longed for the Taupo velodrome - all of it - over and over and over. I looked ahead of myself and the back wall was a light shade of green, with the ceiling a lighter shade still, and those curtains were every shade you could expect of this colour that I know saw everywhere. Yes. Things would be fine. No doubt and no backward glances. And never any fear.

Walking towards me came the doctor for one last time, and all was good. I had undergone my 4th ECG within 24 hours, and results were discussed. The all clear was given, and questions asked. Everything was ok, and everything was going to be ok. Moments were thought of - smaller moments, never taken for granted, soon enough becoming all there would be once again. But after this one last great journey. Yes. I have my arena. On a day where New Zealand votes, I too will have an opportunity - to do something great, or merely be a footnote on a missing page, in an unreturned book.

I commented to Paul Rawlinson that I knew that it would boil down to two decisions when I had this scare. Either a healthy life, of laughter, and time with family, and growing old, and all the while watching of my children growing up before my very eyes. Or conversely - I could take a step into the unknown for one last great outing, and then finally have nothing left to prove. Not even to my harshest critic - myself. Paul commented that if I was to go with the option that would guarantee me seeing my children growing up, then he hoped that one day I'd recall (or perhaps realise) that some mountains are just as beautiful when seen from a distance. These sentiments were objective and are without fault.

Many years ago I recall walking the Kepler. Surrounded my snow on that first evening I stood at the top of what seemed the world. I was grateful I experienced that moment, and I also knew I needn't return to that place. Pure tranquillity beneath my feet I could see Lake Anau outstretched before me. I can still smell the alpine air when I recall that moment, with the feeling of weightlessness you have when your pack is removed, and most of all I experienced nothing around me but silence. Not the artificial silence that merely exists in the absence of noise, but the silence that comes into being in those moments where you disappear back into the world you life for. I sometimes envy those who have the ability to enjoy life in small doses. Maybe they can see more than I can. Or perhaps they're just looking in the right places.

So the Aka's Double loop is behind me. I had planned for each type of ride once only, but I'll this ride again in a few weeks. I'll be stronger, fitter, and will get everything right. I'll also finish the ride feeling good. The only thing that will be the same will be 200kms of cycling with no stopping. 'No stopping for no bastard'.

"Everything but the Cape"
Not a superman.
Undies not on the outside.
Sometimes just tired.

Sponsors / Supporters...

2011-06-22T14:08:00.003+12:00

The following businesses and organisations have been invaluable. A huge thank you to each and every one for helping me towards my goals.

Sponsors
Hammer Nutrition provide New Zealand's sportsmen (and women!!) with the right fuel for training and events. With a huge selection of gel sachets, long lasting 'Perp', recovery supplements, and even clothing, the online store is your best bet if you are looking at fuelling smarter. I've been supported by Hammer since 2008, and during that time I've completed the Taupo Maxi Enduro (640kms), the New Zealand Ironman, and two editions of the Graperide Ultimate (505kms) including a podium finish in 2011 - Fuelling has never been a limiter for me during any of these events.

Based in both the Wellington CBD and Paraparaumu, On Yer Bike are a one-stop-shop for all of your bike needs. Apart from bike sales, repairs, bike fits, and bike maintenance sessions, the store also rents bikes and best of all provides you with information to help you go on your way towards your biking goals. Having supported me since 2008, On Yer Bike have been a pleasure to deal with, and I've always received professional support.

Taupo's Top 10 Holiday Park is the perfect base for your family holiday. The accommodation is second to none, with no less than 39 modern units. There are also tent sites, caravan, campervan, and RV sites. Then there's the facilities - Including New Zealand's largest Jumping Pillow, an 18 metre Thermally heated swimming pool (open all year round), an adventure playground with trampolines, two tennis courts, volleyball, conference facilities, tour booking, and so much more.

Supporters

Restarted about 6 years ago, the Kapiti Cycling Club now boasts excellent membership numbers, with the club having a reputation for hosting professionally run events. On the footstep of the Aka's loop Kapiti is an exceptionally good base for a large number of cyclists. A big thanks to the club for their ongoing support - It's a pleasure to be a member of such a well run club.

A huge thanks to the Taupo Cycle Challenge event. It is always an honour to be tied in with the event. I have found everyone on the organising committee a pleasure to deal with. A special mention goes to Keith Crate, who has once again been fantastic to deal with.

The Taupo Cycling Club has been very flexible about my use of the Taupo velodrome. Thank you very much for allowing me to make use of your track for training rides. I wish all members every success at future events. Ride safe one and all.

The Legend

2011-06-22T11:05:00.002+12:00

Colin Anderson is known for many achievements. Colin has the length of New Zealand record, the most laps of the Taupo Challenge circuit, the New Zealand indoor 24 hour track record, and the current New Zealand outdoor 24 hour track record. Along with that Colin has achieved epic events such as the Paris-Brest-Paris ride, and in 2010 the Taupo 'Extreme Enduro'...which is eight full laps of the 160km Taupo Challenge course. That's quite some list.

The first time I met Colin was after the 2007 Taupo Enduro. I was in the finishing area and was buzzing. I had just completed two laps of the Great Lake - A feat I thought impossible at the start line at 1:30am that very morning. Colin asked my time for the ride and his reply was unexpected. I was surrounded by people patting me on the back saying 'well done', and Colin looked me right in the eyes and said, "Yeah, I used to be slow at the Enduro too". Until that moment I had thought the ride that day was everything, but Colin's sentiment left me thinking. Driving home I recalled the great journey I had been through, and thought to myself, "There is more than this".

Over the months that followed I mapped out how I could do more. To be specific - Twice the distance on the same course. Colin was emailed literally hundred of times and he always replied. Sometimes full page emails would outline a strategic approach for areas I only briefly touched on within my correspondence. In short, I was taught a lot about a sport I initially knew very little about. It was humbling to get so much help from someone I barely knew at that point in time. A year later I was at the start line of the Taupo Maxi Enduro and had gained a lifetime's knowledge thanks to Colin.

I had always seen Colin as a mentor. However, his help throughout 2011 was above expectations, and it would be fair to say that Colin is now seen as a life long friend. Long after memories of our rides, records, and medals have passed, people will recall who we really were...to others. That is certainly worth aspiring to - to be a leader to others, both on and off the bike.

Colin taking a very quick break during his 'Length of New Zealand' record.

The 6 Senses of Cycling...

2011-06-22T10:23:00.001+12:00

We all want to complete our goals, and by using the abilities at our disposal we can better our chances of being safe while out on the roads. The following tips have been used while I've trained for events over the last 6 years / 65,000kms…

Sight
There are two key areas here…
1) Being seen - It is critical you are seen by traffic. This means (where applicable) the wearing of both reflective gear, and the use of lights on both the front and back of the bike. Any lights should be flashing to increase the likelihood of being seen as early as possible.
2) Knowing your surroundings - Some cyclists will ride around parked cars and like without so much as a glance for traffic approaching them. If you expect drivers to look for you, then you need to look for them also. Always make eye contact with the driver if possible, and use hand signals to let them know where you're going. Most drivers will be more than happy to let cyclists merge with them, but they need to know what you're planning to do.

Smell
If you wear it - Wash it. Staying healthy means you stay as clean as possible. This means your gear gets thrown into the wash as soon as you walk in the door, and it also means multiple sets of clothes if commuting.

Taste
Eat what works for you on training rides and events. It's not a secret that I prefer Hammer Nutrition products for both training and recovery, but if you can complete your goals using other products, or even - as I've witnessed once - eating lollies…then power to you. The big thing is to be open minded about what may (or may not) work, and be prepared to try different things occasionally.

Touch
Unless I'm doing an extended ride, (or it's very cold / wet), I don't bother about gloves. If the road is dry you'll get a good feel (literally) of what's happening with your tyres with a quick touch as you're riding. (This may include checking them while riding after cycling over glass and debris).

Hearing
In the same way you'll need to look for traffic, you also need to hear the traffic. This means no I-Pods or MP3 players while cycling on open roads. (The track is another kettle of fish - But this assumes you're on the track alone). The issue of 'boredom' should never arise, as you'll constantly be scanning the road for debris, and additionally the road well ahead should be thought of from time to time. All in all there is plenty to do, and listening for the traffic could be the difference between a safe ride or a close call.

The 6th Sense
Go with your gut. There is a big difference between being nervous about completing Taupo, and nervous about riding to work in the dark with no lights. Simply put, you know how motivated you are to complete your training, and within the context of that motivation, if something sends you the message that things aren't right, then your properly correct. In these situations the best starting point is to think about the above points. If you are still unsure about a situation, then approach someone who has successfully addressed this situation in the past. Bottom line - Safety first.

I hope these points help. Feel free to also use the 3 'rules of thumb' below for keeping yourself safer…
- Always be prepared to get off the road. (You are entitled to be on it, but that is a small consolation if a truck drives too close to the side of the road…where you happen to be).
- Wave to vehicles whenever possible. (Very few drivers are dangerous, but they are all giving you room - You wear distinctive gear and will be remembered either way).
- Know why you're out there. (Cycling becomes a chore relatively quickly if you see your weekends simply as being tired in the saddle and later tired at home).

Reach out and grab what you want from this world before you. Cycling can bring you a new life, but you must embrace it. This means enjoying the rain, the dirt, the traffic, and most of all enjoying those smaller moments when you carry on because of the discomfort. With any luck these moments will collectively make you into a better person...who has a well balanced view on life.

Information about Congenital Heart Disease...

2011-06-22T10:19:00.001+12:00

* Every week 12 babies are born in New Zealand with a heart defect; a smaller number will develop a heart condition as a result of Rheumatic Fever, cardiomyopathy or Kawasaki Disease

* More than half of these conditions are serious enough to require treatment through medication or surgery – sadly some cannot be repaired

* A congenital heart condition is the most common serious birth abnormality in New Zealand needing ongoing medical intervention

* The severity of conditions can range from a simple hole in the heart to highly complex combination of conditions

* A disproportionate number of Maori and Pacific Island children suffer from acquired heart disease – often as a result of Rheumatic Fever

* Heart disease is the leading cause of death in young children

* Childhood heart disease takes more lives than all other childhood diseases combined

* Every year 450 children will have open heart surgery in New Zealand

* 70% of all heart surgery involves stopping the child’s heart

* 1,000 children a year are treated at Auckland’s Paediatric Cardiac Unit

* Auckland’s Paediatric Cardiac Unit is the only Unit in New Zealand. (For nearly 70% of heart families’ treatment for their child will mean leaving their homes, jobs, family members and support networks)

* Due to medical breakthroughs, over 90% of children born with heart defects are now expected to live to adulthood, meaning HCNZ has been able to widen the scope of services provided to better accommodate these new Heart Adults

* These Heart Adults need specialist Congenital Heart Cardiologists and Surgeons. Their physiology and needs are quite different from patients with coronary heart disease

* Patients born with more complex problems face a high risk of developing new heart problems as they age

* There is a need for teens living with CHD to be educated around the need for ongoing care, heart infections, pregnancy issues, contraceptive options and the need to avoid drugs and alcohol

Kids@Heart Fundraising...

2011-06-21T20:47:00.028+12:00

The record ride is not all about simply gaining a record or beating a distance. The event is also looking to raise money for a great charity - Kids@ Heart.

One of the ways funds are being raised is being selling donated items. The items donated by the companies are all being sold on TradeMe. Each item is sold for one week, in a $1 reserve auction. 100% of the money raised from each auction goes to Kids@Heart. The auction winner pays the money directly to the Kids@Heart fundraising at www.everydayhero.co.nz/recordride2011 and they are then put in contact with the organisation, or if I have the items (eg. tickets) then they are sent free of charge.

All auctions will be started at approx 7pm each Monday. The $1 reserve auction will be amongst my TradeMe listings, which are located at...
http://www.trademe.co.nz/Members/Listings.aspx?member=487985

Schedule of Auctions
Click on the auction listing to see a larger image of the auctons.

Please support those who have gifted items towards the Kids@Hearts fundraising…

Record Ride 2011

2011-06-20T12:13:00.007+12:00

Well, that was quite some winter eh!! The writeup "Cooked" in the left menu says it all really.

See you all in 2012 for more adventures. The road ahead is unknown, with the exception being a well earned break for the remainder of 2011.

Thanks for visting my website, and take care on the roads.

Stu Downs.

The Graperide Ultimate

2011-04-09T15:25:00.010+12:00

"Believe. Believe in yourself, believe in your training, believe in the possibilities, believe in the results. Go and race the race you believe you can expect".
Paul Rawlinson (Cycling legend and bloody good mate).

On the evening of Thursday 7 October 2010 I had the most amazingly vivid dream of my life. I dreamt that I was in the Graperide Ultimate event. I dreamt that I was having the ride of my life. And I dreamt that at Havelock - Just 30kms from the finish - I was in third place...and a podium finish beckoned. This story, this page, this portion of your screen, is the story of how that dream came about to a reality. I woke from that dream, and woke to a new world. I would have quite some day - my day of days.

The sporting events I had previously participated in had tested me. Duration and distance extended to push me to new levels. A theme of sorts though was 'finishing'. This is not a bad thing when you consider that this listing includes events such as the Taupo Maxi Enduro and the 2009 Graperide Ultimate. And it would be fair to say that I arrived at the start line of most events before I was truly ready. The approach would be different this time. And subsequently, my status of ‘readiness’ would differ also.

The day after my dream I emailed Brian Bushe and we discussed the possibilities. I also emailed Paul Rawlinson, who essentially said, 'Good...about time you lifted your ambitions!!". (I'm paraphrasing). Paul also asked me if I was prepared to risk a DNF in the pursuit of achieving my goal. There would be two months of consideration before I would be ready to answer this question. The scene was therefore set.

Ahead of me was still to come December's Taupo Half Ironman. With it two years of triathlon would come to a close. For now. I love triathlon. It would be fair to say that I found myself happy with my efforts that day. The following week I would be in Blenheim and would swim the 7.6kms of Lake Rotoiti. This would be about my limit for the time being, and I was very sick for more than a week. Planned loops of the Graperide circuit were scrapped, and each day saw rides, runs, and swims shelved. In short - I rested. To quote Lynley Brown, "Rest is your weapon". Yes. She is so right.

On 1 January 2011 I was home and my bike was finally used again. That ride hurt. It really did. Actually, so did the next ride two days later. "I've entered and will do five laps", I told myself. Discipline it seems has improved for me, and so it would be that in a year where I had resolved not consume crisps, chocolate, or ice cream, I would find myself on the road readying my bike for my third outing of the year. "Now or never", I thought. And I never looked back.

The rides since that day have taken me everywhere in the lower half of the North Island, and have included the 'Four Hills' and 'Kapiti to Taupo' outings. As the weeks of training progressed it dawned on me that this game of pushing and recovering was finally being understood. The eve of the Graperide Ultimate had me feeling the same as the Taupo Maxi Enduro. I was calm, focused, and feeling prepared. The battle loomed ahead and I longed for it.

The Start Line

The Graperide Ultimate would have eight starters, with the 2011 edition of the 505km event featuring a who’s who of endurance cyclists. Taupo Enduro (two laps) and Maxi Enduro (four laps) competitors featured throughout the group. Additionally two riders had successfully completed the Taupo Extreme last November. A full eight laps of the 160km Taupo circuit. (I congratulated Nick Dunne on his achievement shortly after the ride started. It was a genuine sentiment). Nick Dunne is currently training for next years 5,000km Race Across America. Eugene Collins was next to me at the start line - He's previously qualified for Kona. (The Ironman World Championships). My friend Colin Anderson was once again in the Graperide Ultimate field. Colin has done the most laps of Taupo and holds the length of New Zealand record. These were special athletes indeed. Lastly, the field also consisted of Robin Reid, who has previously competed in both the Olympics and Commonwealth Games for New Zealand in road cycling. Robin still races in elite road cycling, and even won the elite division in the inaugural Graperide race in 2005. I would remind myself of this the following day - Standing next to Robin on the stage, in front of 2,000 people. While he was winning that race in 2005 I was further back. I was 110kg and I was 74th of 76 starters in my age group. That was a long time ago. 60,000kms have passed since then. To this new life.

The briefing allowed one last chance to reflect before the battle began.

“The approach would be different this time”.

Lap 1
Warm-ups done, we all listened to the race briefing. "Two minutes" came the call. The talking was now all done. It was now that we would be tested. We would be gladiators on this road of life. I had many plans still running through my head, and was still unsure how I'd approach this race. "30 seconds", was called out. "If I wasn’t here", I thought, "and I wasn’t able to entered this battle. What would I do if I was given just one day?? Just one day to live". The call went out. "Ten seconds...five...four...three...two...one". I thought of only a single action that that moment - To go as fast as I could for the next 505kms. Clicking into the big chain ring, I pushed with all of my might on the pedals, and departed the start as fast I could. Then down on the bars. There was a gap now and I wasn’t waiting.

The race was underway. We rode well together as a group, but shortly before Blenheim I took off again. I grew up in Blenheim and frankly the Grove Road bridge on a Friday afternoon is not the best place for fast riding. Better to be the chased solo rider than the larger bunch attempting to get through heavy traffic. I eased up after the bridge and sat on 30kms per hour. We had a slight tailwind, and I waited just long enough for Eugene Collins to jump on my back wheel. I then put the pace back on, and after several minutes Eugene took his turn on the front. It was like riding behind Jens Voigt. The guy does not know how to ride slowly!!

Eventually the group caught us and a more modest pace ensued for a short period of time. Then Nick Dunne came to the front. "Ace riding at Taupo", I said. "Ace blog" Nick said. Wow!! High praise indeed from someone who achieved greatness with his eight laps at Taupo last year. He then achieved a bit more greatness by proceeding to lead out the group for about the next ten kms. I think Nick was trying to simple ride off the front, but he wasn’t dropping me - Not on this day. The other six riders fell back and we carried on. Nick eased up slightly and the group reformed. We were approaching the base of the Elevation, and the hills waited for us.

Now anyone who knows me will also know that I have had my fair share of tough moments on the Elevation. The hill is a short sharp climb just before Picton. Ruth waited at the top of the hill. "Call out how far ahead the leaders are", was my instruction before the race. We draw closer to the climb, and the group compacted. Everyone sat up.

I rode to the front of the group, with gears shifted to allow spinning to the top. I didn’t ease up and estimate the cadence was around 115 all the way. Reaching the top I looked towards Ruth – no splits needed - I was leading the group over this first climb, and looking back we had three now, with Robin Reid and Colin Anderson on my wheel. I got into a big gear and pushed hard down the hill. We needed to make this advantage stick, as the real hills were ahead of us.

The fast descent into Picton was followed by the sharp left turn towards the Queen Charlotte, and the first climb began. I sat in behind Robin and Colin, with our ascent swift but comfortable. This set the scene for a good breakaway. The descent followed...and I was dropped!! Descending is not where I am left behind.

'The Wedge' waited for us - A hill about three times longer than the initial climb out of Picton, with seemingly endless corners for good measure. I caught Colin and Robin on this climb, and Robin then casually said, "I'm not breaking away, I just need to go for a slash". Robin then rode off the front, and was out of sight within 30 seconds. He is a class act. Colin and myself continued up the climb, and we regrouped with Robin near the top. Down the other side then, big gears, a fast pace...and dropped again. I really pushed a fast pace, and at one stage the front wheel slipped sideways on a wet corner. No mishap however. The pace did continue, however I'd next see Colin and Robin on the long Linkwater straights. They would be well down the road.

Halfway through the Queen Charlotte the hills end, and in front of you the road opens up as you pass through Linkwater. You then get to enjoy great views, with a climb at the end of the long straights bringing you to a larger hill overlooking Havelock. It was through Linkwater that I looked back. Eugene Collins was about 200 meters behind me. He remained there for what seemed like ages. Then BOOM, he passed me doing what must have been 50kms per hour. I was on 35kms per hour and it was like I was standing still. A perfect passing manoeuvre, with no real opportunity to jump on his wheel. He powered away, and I honestly thought his pace would catch-up with him later in the race. It didn’t. I respect both his ability and determination.

Now forth then. I had 30kms to the start / finish, and focused on staying on the bars. No time to think of the tailwinds that this stretch of road had gifted me in some earlier editions of the Graperide. This time it would be a slight headwind all the way. I neared the sign-in area and noted the time. This was my 12th 'Graperide Lap', and my time of 3:09 was the second fastest, just 4 minutes slower than Lap 1 of the 2008 Magnum. On that day I was cooked after my efforts. On this day it didn’t matter if I felt 'good' or 'bad'. Just one fact mattered - Four laps of racing lay ahead of me.

The start of this 505km race would be fast.

“The 2011 edition of the 505km event featured a who’s who of endurance cyclists, including two Taupo Exteme Enduro (eight laps) riders, the length of New Zealand record holder, and ex-Olympian Robin Reid”.

Lap 2
A super quick changeover followed, with a yellow reflective windbreaker added for good measure. Ruth had everything ready, and I was away almost before I had arrived. The start of this lap would see me back into third place, with Colin leapfrogged at the sign-in area. Straight down on the bars, and despite a constant headwind to Blenheim my speed sat at 30-32kms per hour. Eugene’s place was in my mind at all times, and I focused on catching him.

My folks (and children) were seen together near Blenheim, with cheers and waves. I waved back and pushed on. 100kms ago I had my brief solo breakaway near Blenheim - Now it would be a 450km breakaway, with the sole goal to catch those ahead of me.

Tailwinds from Blenheim, and the Elevation's climb followed. It was still light and we were now on the Linkwater straights. "Almost Lap 3", I thought, "and after that just 200kms". Yes. The mind games were used all day and later all night. I finished my Psychology degree (Victoria University) in January and it would be safe to say that I would lean on skills learned during this ride. In fact, to get to the finish I would need to draw on everything I had learnt in this life. Linkwater arrived again.

Nearing the motel halfway along the Linkwater straights it appeared something was wrong ahead of me. Someone was walking towards the road from the motel - There was much shouting and yelling. Someone else came jogging to the same point. More shouting. More yelling. Then several more people - This time sprinting - from the motel to the road. "Hurry up or you miss him!!", I heard. This small crowd waited at the roadside, with random people running from various units at the motel. I realised what was happening. "Oh my God", I thought, "they are rushing out to see me!!". This has to be one of the coolest moments I have experienced on the bike, and I genuinely wish each and every one of the crowd had the ride of their lives the following day. Say 'hi' to me at the start line one day - I look forward to meeting you.

The Start Line
Unsure at the start
Thoughts of loved ones departed
Yes - Race with no fear.

My original plan was for a full clothing and lights changeover somewhere through Linkwater, but I decided the top of the long climb out of Linkwater would be better yet. This was perfect, as darkness was arriving fast. With the darkness the cooler conditions started to make their presence felt. I was feeling a little light headed when I stopped, so had some short chained carbs that I keep with my emergency stash of food. This left me with an upset stomach for about the next hour. Tested after six hours for the Aka’s Double loop. Tested after ten hours for the Four Hills ride. Tested after 12 hours while on riding from Kapiti to Taupo. Not tested enough it seemed. I was staggered that this hadn’t worked for this event, and didn’t use them again. Just as well the rest of my food was Hammer - I never missed a beat.

I descended into Havelock, and then pushed on towards the start / finish. This race had changed though. This year had changed. I now had all of my eggs in one basket. Ruth's plan was to wait at three specific spots on the course for Lap 1 and Lap 2. While changing into my night clothes I pictured this happening for another lap. I also visualised Ruth handing me food and drinks for an extra start / finish. "I'll do you a deal", I said. "Stay out for one more lap and there will be no Taupo this year". Ruth paused. "You're on!!", she said. Our pact made then. No four laps of Taupo. I carried on. Two riders ahead of me. Five riders chasing me.

Focusing on those ahead of me I looked upon my beloved bike. This was not Taupo. This was not a ride simply to complete. This was not 2005 - and I was no longer fat, or slow, or full of doubt. This was the Graperide Ultimate, and I had just one day to live. I thought more during those 30kms than I ever have before. No dreams. More seeing this new place I sit at in the universe. The view was worth the wait.

I also understood for the first time ever what teamwork truly was - we would live, or die, together - my guardian angel that I sat upon and me.

Lap 2 then would come to an end. I figured that it was best for the sign-in staff (and Ruth) to know that I was approaching. "Rider checking in", was called when I was about 50 meters from the sign-in area. They heard me. The subsequent 'stop' was at the upper end of quick. I've been told that it was easily under a minute. The wheels stopped though, so it was too long for my liking. (Of Note: My total time off the bike for the entire ride was around 12 to 15 minutes. While this is pleasing, a single digit time would be the ideal. I'll have to put my thinking cap on!!). I looked ahead into the darkness and cherish the lap ahead of me. Lap 2 took 3:34, and Lap 3 represented the backbone of the entire ride.

The map of the Graperide circuit. The Graperide Ultimate is five full loops around the course.

“I thought of only a single action that that moment - To go as fast as I could for the next 505kms”.

Lap 3
I rode off into the darkness at speeds nearing the start - 200kms ago. Turning towards Blenheim I encountered the headwinds once again and got down on the bars. Ruth passed me in the car and tooted. She would wait further ahead. I was in my own world now, and pushed the pace into the wind, while reminding myself that these hours of suffering would soon enough become fleeting seconds - recalled as memories in quieter moments.

Blenheim came and went, and I reminded myself of this same race two years ago. I had reached Blenheim on Lap 3 and got the biggest case of the munchies ever. It had to be shoe string chips that I craved for some reason, and so it was that I got to the Grave Road bridge and looked left (towards Picton), and then right (towards the local KFC). To this day I am very proud of turning left. Even though I don't even eat KFC, I know that the meal would have tasted sooooooo good. Perhaps there would have been additional chips purchased to pop into my back pocket. Maybe some potato and gravy. Perhaps even a drum stick or two. But no. I had carried on. This year however I simply looked to the right for traffic and swept around the corner at pace.

The bridge represented my last true headwind until Havelock, and thus I got down on the bars once again and focused on keeping the tempo riding going. My heart rate was struggling to reach where it had been earlier in the day, but the miles were being eaten up and I focused on catching Eugene.

While almost at Picton, it occurred to me that I was also almost halfway through this ride. No. "Better yet", I thought, " I am almost 50kms from Lap 4…and after that lap have just a single lap to go". This sounded much better.

The Elevation followed, and at the top I'd have my one and only 'pit stop'. Ruth waited patiently with drinks, and I had time to work out that I'd be stopping just six times on this entire ride. In the midst of all of this a car pulls up. "Are you guys ok??", they asked. "Yes…we're doing a race", replied Ruth. Yes - 'We' is very apt. While only I sat on the seat, Ruth was there every step of the way with the training, and very seldom did she complain about my longer commutes, or even longer Saturday training rides. To ever consider that this was a solo effort would be not only arrogant, but also missing the point entirely - Without my family this ride would be meaningless.

The hills were ahead, and were also still quite manageable. It had been 200kms since I had ridden with others, and I rode through the twisting ascents and descents with the rhythm you tend to get when roads become familiar.

Linkwater again followed, and for the first time I glanced back, just to check, looking for any lights from other cyclists. The night was moonless, and the road was dark.

In a blur Lap 3 seemed to finish. I had now cycled almost the distance from Kapiti to Taupo, and as the forth lap approached I reminded myself that just 202kms remained once Lap 4 commenced. This is the equivalent of Kapiti to Palmerston North and back. Or perhaps a single lap of Taupo, carrying on to the first relay point. Or perhaps the Magnum. In that instant my world's focus shifted to a variable that I had not considered. I thought about a factor that could change everything. Lap 3 had taken 3:56, and Ruth handed me drinks and food for Lap 4. "See you at the finish at 9am", I said. My mind was elsewhere as I set off. Still comprehending the Magnum. Yes - The Magnum may yet change everything.

Lap 4
The Magnum is the two lap race around the Graperide circuit. It's fast!! I've done the event twice (2007 and 2008), and on each occasion set a new record for the Magnum for the Kapiti Cycling Club. (Not that I'm keeping count). The time of 6:33 has thus stood since the 2008 edition of the Graperide. Along come Brian Bushe, with two Taupo Enduro's under his belt, and this year smashed the previous time. 5:49!! Love it. He did this with no drinks on Lap 2, and I admire his discipline to not stop at a drinks station (thus losing time). We caught up at the prize giving and he still looked fresh.

Darkness arrived soon enough, and we raced throughout the night.

“After several minutes Eugene took his turn on the front. It was like riding behind Jens Voigt”.

The Magnum however, for me, was something else on this day. The two lap event starts at 6:20am, I had chasing riders behind me, and it was looking increasingly likely that I'd be passed by some (if not all) of the Magnum riders on my final lap. All this hard work. All this effort. All this progress. And I could lose everything - with the chasing riders catching a free ride with successive bunches of Magnum riders.

My next 202kms would have these thoughts running through my head without reprieve. How far back were the others?? Was I doing enough?? When would they catch me?? It then begun that I looked back.

Almost at Blenheim I looked behind me…and saw a small light on the road well behind me. It was too small to be a car's headlight. I was being caught. The Grove Road bridge announced the only tailwind on the loop, and I knew that the time was now to push back. At the very end of every long straight I glanced back. Never before the very end of the long straights. I wouldn’t dare. To look back any sooner, and to see a light, that would be a bitter blow.

The Elevation arrived once more. Reaching the top I thought, "Just once more up this climb". Ruth wasn’t waiting at the top this time. Her work was done, and I was not to see her at the three spots where she had waited patiently for me. It was amazing how the three places where she had been were transformed. Those spots were now grass verges, small hedges, and painted fences. Devoid of the headlight (she wore on her head), and lacking the warmth of knowing that I was one step closer to the finish at each of these junctures. Each place was now a reminder that I was simply being chased.

Picton’s descent was fast once again, and I looked forward to the penultimate ride through the hills. The first climb up the hills was fine, but The Wedge really surprised me – My legs were basically gone. Up until now there had been fatigue, but I now felt like I was going up the hills in the big chain ring, and I even thought I was at the top of the hill three times before actually getting there. “What will this be like in 100kms??”, I wondered.

Five Laps
Racing through the night
Pushing so hard to stay clear
Striving for my place.

Linkwater followed. A glance back told me that no one was on my heels just yet. However, a subsequent look behind me just before the final bridge on the long straight was a different story – The light was there again. I checked again. And double checked. I even slowed down and had an extended look at this road I had already travelled. Yes. It was there. Hallucinations do sometimes happen on longer rides, but this was real. Crossing the bridge and starting up the long climb out of Linkwater I had a thought. “Was it a street light??”. Now I was getting confused.

This scenario was akin to a cycling version of the ‘Japanese water torture’, with each seemingly harmless look back growing in my mind...and creating alternative realities of what could really be happening all around me.

It was at about this point I wondered if I could maybe turn right at Havelock, and carry on to Nelson and down the West Coast. I have no idea why. The idea passed though. I reminded myself of the training done this year, and of the efforts on this race. “Believe!!”, I said out loud. “Believe in this race!!”. I felt like I was being chased by a pack of wolves, while waist deep in mud.

With this ride carrying on towards Lap 5 there were some tougher mental moments. I was now accustomed to the physical hardships and in fact welcomed them. I knew everyone was suffering, and each painful movement on the seat, or in my back, or through my head, was simply raising the stakes. I had no problem with this scenario, and welcomed the game of ‘lets see who blinks first’. No. It was the mental side of the race that was gruelling. Your mind will help or hinder you, as it is commanded by your soul.

I reached Havelock. Looking right I turned left, and knew that the time was truly now. “Believe!! Come on Stu – 130kms to a medal”, I said out loud. The headwind had waited for me, and I pushed hard, while getting on the bars. This was a time for doing what needs doing. Without complaint, self pity, or half measures.

The Graperide's profile.

“I was leading the group over this first climb with Robin Reid and Colin Anderson on my wheel”.

Approaching the start / finish I called out “Rider checking in!!”. Ruth was not about, (having done her three laps), and this I expected. However, what was unexpected was that no one at all was about. I called out again. Still no one. I got off my bike and started to walk over to my gear to get drinks and food for Lap 5. I had made a conscious decision to not litter at all on this ride, and put all of my wrappers into my transition boxes. The way I saw it, what was gained by dumping rubbish on this, the most beautiful road in the world. Bottles and bars were loaded. I never felt rushed, and must have spent at least four minutes at the sign-in area. Almost enough time for a sleep!!

Out of nowhere came a friendly official. “Hi”, he said calmly. I was at my last sign-in, and it would be the most relaxed few moments of this entire ride. I signed-in and walked to the bike. Clipping in I paused. “How far ahead is second place??, I said. “30 minutes”. Hmmmmm...Eugene had done enough it seemed. “How far back was third place...one lap ago”, I queried. The official checked quickly, and reported, “Colin Anderson was 55 minutes behind you at the end of Lap 3”. “What about Nick Dunne??”, I said. “He was 15 minutes further back”, came the reply.

I was stunned. “Are you serious??”, I asked, with the official double checking and confirming the placings. I paused for what must have been 15 seconds. “Flipping Heck”, I said. “Are you telling me that one full lap ago I was an hour ahead, and 75 minutes ahead, of two riders that successfully rode eight times non-stop around Taupo last November??”. The marshal calmly replied, “...er...yes, but that’s 55 minutes back to Colin”.

I thanked the official and took off into the darkness for the final time. Lap 4 had taken 4:12, and I knew that this was it. I knew that if I gave everything I had on this last lap then I’d make it. ‘Giving 100%’ has been redefined over the last year, and I knew that I had to reach my true limits, or I would lose everything.

Lap 5
55 minutes one lap ago. How could this be?? Colin Anderson is a legend. When we did the pre-race roll call and got to his name I said, "Come on…give him a round of applause", as I started clapping myself. There was no hesitation from others. It may sound like a cliché, but Colin has forgotten more about this sport than I'll ever know.

So it was then, as I setoff for this final lap of the Graperide Ultimate, that I would finally realise that I was actually doing well at the end of Lap 3. But what about now?? The pace was on as I headed into Blenheim. Cars were about now, and all traffic seemed to be heading for the Graperide event. “Come on!!”, came the call from a car coming towards me. “55 minutes”, I thought, as I waved to the tooting vehicle. “But what about now??, I wondered. “40 minutes?? Perhaps they had a great lap and it’s now 30...or 20 minutes”.

Blenheim was reached for the last time and a road to Picton waited for me. Then the hills. How would I get over those hills?? I was absolutely buggered at this stage, and was still pushing the pace. I would do everything to keep the pace going, and as I crossed the Grove Road bridge leaving Blenheim I stood a fraction, so I was just off the seat. This would give me slightly more power as I cycled on. I stayed in this position for as long as I could, and eventually I feel back down into the seat.

This ride had no spinning, no freewheeling, and no room for complacency. Looking back at the end of a longer straight I glanced back as I rounded the corner. The light was there again. Or was it from the previous lap?? I had rounded the corner now, and couldn’t see back down the road. Crikey, I was getting confused now. No looking back for now, the Elevation was the next hurdle to overcome, and I needed to focus on that task. Then the hills, which I needed to overcome with some degree of pace.

My day was done, and surrounding me were riders yet to start their own races. Utterly surreal. (As was the sunlight creating 'white out' for my vision!!).

"I'll do you a deal", I said. "Stay out for one more lap and there will be no Taupo this year". Ruth paused. "You're on!!", she said”.

My strategy was to swap the batteries for the lights at the top of the Elevation. However, at the base of the climb I suddenly found myself surrounded by darkness. The lights had run out of juice. It was pitch black. I mean absolute darkness. I looked back – No lights there either.

Only once in my life have I been ever experienced being in such complete darkness. That was my first overnight Aka’s Triple loop. On a climb halfway through the Aka’s forested area I turned off my lights as I carried on, in the dark, on the road to nowhere. I felt like I could have reached out and touched the darkness - it was as if everything in this world was gone...except for the road, my bike, and me.

I pulled over to the left in the dark and only knew I was off the road once I was on gravel. I calmly reached into my back pocket and found the cable for the batteries. I swapped the cabled over, and pushed them into the battery. No light. I pulled the cable out, and pushed it back in. Still no light. The cable was swapped to the old battery. Nothing. Then again to the recharged battery. Nope. It was official – I had no light. These lights had been tested and used for night riding in training, and thus I had a fairly good idea of how to use them. “A solution exists here”, I thought. “Think of what is not right. I usually plug in batteries and the lights come on!!”. I then realised. The lights had switched off due to the batteries running out. Thus, the lights were now ‘off’. Reaching up to the light I pressed the button. I now had light. No time for back patting however, I had lost two minutes.

Clicking through the gears I started up the Elevation. The short break had seen me freshen the legs slightly, so I pushed hard up the hill and thought about this same hill 400kms ago, when our group had split. That seemed like another age, and I wondered where others were - all facing their own challenges and internal battles. Reaching the top of the Elevation I was relieved. It had been easier to get to the top than expected, but it had still been the toughest climb of the entire race thus far.

Ruth was not at the top. No. There would be no handoff of a bottle, or a call of “You’re doing well”. The road at the top was once again simply a grassy verge. In quieter moments I sometimes contemplate how much I love Ruth, and can only wonder if I will ever comprehend the dimensions. With all my heart I loved her from the moment we met, all of those years ago in that flat on Adelaide Road.

The Hills
Legs strain on The Wedge
Seeing my goal gives me strength
This is the last lap.

Picton’s blur arrived again, and with it the increased issue of lights all around me. My eyesight was now getting worse. Every light had a large glowing halo around it, and while this may sound ‘pretty cool’, it was actually ‘pretty worrying’!! Any cars with headlights on high beam would actually be blocking out all of my vision of where I was cycling, and I’d simply try to keep a straight line of cycling until they passed. I would occasionally dip my glasses to check if it wasn’t simply my glasses fogging. But no. My eye sight was receding, and I would need to battle on with one more variable to manage.

“Loss of sight won’t prevent me from doing this”, I thought. “Believe!!”, I said out loud. “Believe in yourself Stu!!”. My hardest critic in my corner - this boded well – he is not swayed by mood or public opinion, only by that most scarce of commodities, which also surrounds us everywhere. He feds only on winning...and he had been hungry.

Still a pitch dark night, I started climbing the first hill out of Picton. “Only three hills after this climb”, I told myself. And once again I wondered when I’d be passed. Magnum riders were racing now, and I could feel them approaching fast. With them would be passengers from other races, seeking what I wanted, but gaining a free ride. When would they pass me??

I descended towards The Wedge now, and gained any momentum I could before the climb started. “This is your whole race right here”, I told myself. The last big hurdle lay before me, and I started the climb in bottom gear and pushed with all of my might as the pedals turned slowly right from the base of hill. I went to stand in the saddle...and immediately fell back to the seat. I couldn’t even stand on a climb now. There was no pain now, no cramping, no power. Nothing.

The pedalling continued and I reached a slightly flatter section, but there would be no clicking up the gears as I had done on previous laps. I knew there was more to come. The Wedge continued and I focused only on the spot just in front of me. “Three or four more corners. Surely”, I thought. The road still remained my focus two dozen bends later. I then reached a strange section of road, with the climb going flat. A brief reprieve once again?? No. The top. I allowed myself the luxury of coasting down the initial sections of the descent. Others still had this hill ahead of them, and it now separated us on this journey.

Brian Bushe and myself at the prize giving.

“My eyesight was now getting worse. Every light had a large glowing halo around it”.

Descending now, and my vision was such that I was needing to squint to actually make out if the corners swept around to the left or right. Occasionally, bike laden vehicles would pass me, with toots and cheers. I would wave, but celebrating now seemed a little too foolish.

Forwards, always forwards, and down on the bars, as the flat sections of Linkwater opened up before me. Daylight was almost upon me now. The long climb out of Linkwater started. I emptied out a water bottle to lighten the climb to the top, and now had just enough to reach the finish. With one bar also in my back pocket I had everything I needed - as long as I also had enough spirit to not slow down. A new day now, and I was surrounded by daylight. The warmth that follows daylight wasn’t felt however. Instead, in front of me, black lines and white dots were seen everywhere. I could sense that this ride would need to finish before this curtain closed.

Then, 300 meters from the top of the climb the first of the Magnum riders flew by. Almost without exception calls came out – “Go fella”, “Well done”, “Great riding”. I waved, but didn’t hear the precious words I desperately wanted. I received no replies when I repeatedly asked, “How far back are the five lapper riders??”. I did however take comfort in the fact that this group was going too fast to pick up someone who had done 475kms.

Descending was now fairly cautious, with brakes used in places that had seen me clicking up gears and pushing the pace on previous laps. "Two climbs left", I thought to myself, as I started up the rise to Havelock. I managed to get out of the saddle this time and simply looked to the top of the hill, knowing I had to get to the top as fast as I could.

I then saw the cyclists. The passing cyclists. More Magnum riders were coming by. Brian Bushe was with the group and called out, "Are you still third??". "Yep - How far back to the chasing five lappers??", I said. "What five lappers??", came the reply. "You're the first one we've passed".

I carried on to the top of the hill, and looked towards the marshal. He was directing cyclists to left, and thus towards the finish of the race. It's safe to say I knew the way. If this had been a four lap event I would have possibly been fresh enough to punch the air, giving cries of "I did it!!". But no. This is five. On this day there would be no mistakes. No arrogance. No regrets. I was 30kms from the finish, and I knew that I needed to give one last long push home. I also knew that I would go to places I had never been before. In that moment, in my minds eye, I pushed all of my chips across the table - Pointing to the number I knew would come out of the wheel. I would either feel this was destiny, or would be destroyed.

Down on the bars for the final time I flew down the hill away from Havelock. Any notion I had of pacing myself on this final stretch evaporated in those moments. With daylight about fully now I found that the white road markings were not visible at times. Squinting didn’t help, and twisting my head no longer provided visual cues. Finally I decided on focusing upon the object that seemed most fitting - My front wheel. For 90% of the time I would get the peripheral view of the moving white lines as I looked straight ahead.

My one thought on the stage?? "How do I get down those steps!!"

“I was 30kms from the finish, and I knew that I needed to give one last long push home”.

More cyclists passed. The Magnum riders that went by were still too fast to have chasing riders amongst them. These were relatively large groups, and thus the work was shared - and speed was fast.

However, shortly after the group went by a lone cyclist passed me. Slower than all of the others. The fresh pace simply wasn’t there. Had this been a chasing rider?? I was now just 10kms from the finish. This was not the time to feel sorry for myself. I had to believe in my race, my ability, and my legs pushing me through to the very end. No one else passed me on this ride.

There are two rises to climb before the Wairau Bridge, and reaching the top of the first climb I noticed that there were road signs at the top. This seemed odd, as I recalled this being on the next hill. I then looked ahead and was very relieved to see ahead of me a long descent...to the Wairau Bridge.

I was almost there. Crossing the Wairau Bridge I tried to keep well to the left, but at times this really became tricky, because the side of the road has no white road markings. If they were there I couldn’t see them anyway!! Then a bump that I recognised. The bridge was crossed. A small descent now, but I wouldn’t be on the bars again on this ride. I looked ahead, hoping, waiting, to see the finish.

Greatness
See it at the start
Race against such good riders
Who became my friends.

It was just the white line and me now. Occasionally I’d swerve around 'Cycle Race' signs, but the white line would take me to the finish. "Go Daddy!!", I heard. I was there. Orange cones were ahead of me, and I turned left - just making out where Ruth was. I stopped between Ruth and an official.

I had always thought that the Maxi Enduro would be the benchmark for fatigue, but racing these 505kms had me more tired than I had ever been before. My eyes closed. "Have I finished??", I said. "Yes". "Did I do it??", I asked. "Yes". "Was I third??", and both Ruth and the official said "Yes". Finally, I asked one last question. "Are you joking??". "No", came the reply.

I felt my head fall onto my hands. Now I could stop. At last I simply breathed. And this race, this day, this day of days was finished. Running scared for 200kms I had survived. Never ever would I be arrogant enough to sit up and cruise - not with the calibre of cyclists who lined up with me. This field of riders had no weak links.

"Excuse me", I heard. "Do you want to cycle up the finish shoot??". "Have I not finished??", I said. "Yes, but we have a couple of minutes until the next wave of riders leave", came the reply. "You'll get quite some reception", he added. "Can I have two minutes here first??", I said. The official made a quick phone call and confirmed this was all ok. I then setoff to the finish...once again.

The five lapper riders finish on the main road, as the other 2,500 cyclists all come out of the Forest Estate winery. Not a good look if this situation isn't managed. So small windows existed to ride into the winery. Alex ran next to me, and I have to say that it all seemed quite effortless. I had gotten to the finish, and had also gotten a placing I wanted. Big announcements were made, crowds cheered, and I found my spot - finally - on the grassy area near the large stage. I could at last truly stop. And I did.

It was all worth it.

“My eyes closed. "Did I do it??", I said. “Yes” came the reply”.

Sitting on the grass I recalled the first time I had been in this same spot six years ago. I had finished 74th of 76 starters in my age group and now I was at the other end of the spectrum. That was so long ago. 60,000kms ago. A lifetime ago. Another life.

So I sat there wondering about this life. This journey. Paul Rawlinson's phone number was dialled. "I did it", I said. "I bloody did it - Thanks for telling me I could". It seemed fitting to finish this ride where it had begun. With an update as to what was possible, and what was later achieved.

The prize giving would follow later in the day. In the crowd I waited to collect my medal, and I stood next to Brian Bushe. This journey had truly come full circle. I then setoff for the stage...and a new chapter of my life. I had seen a new world, but more about that later.

*** The End ***

The 2011 Graperide Ultimate Riders
This was a strong field. The 2011 winner was over an hour faster than the 2009 winner. The only woman in the field was also over an hour faster than the only woman in the 2009 edition. Additionally, the average time for all finishers was over 30 minutes faster compared with the 2009 race.

For those who wish to assume that there existed faster conditions: Both the Magnum (two laps) and Solo (one lap) times were - on average across all 2,500 riders – over 20 minutes slower in 2011 compared to 2009. It was a tougher course this year.

For those I lined up with - Thank you. To race with you has been cherished. May our paths cross again. In a world of softer options and weaker moments, we eight are kindred spirits. I look forward to hearing your stories also.

The placings for the 2011 Graperide Ultimate.

Many thanks to...
Everyone who asked me how the training was going, or even better yet trained with me. The list of people is extensive, but you know who you are, and 'yes', you made a positive difference.

Hammer Nutrition
Still the best endurance supplements on the market. Thanks to Rachael at Hammer. Four years ago you were simply someone who sent nutritional products to my doorstep, but at some stage you become a friend. You have a great spirit, and I wish you every success for yet another Ironman event you'll conquer next year.

On Yer Bike
Nigel, Simon, Matt, and the staff at On Yer Bike in Paraparaumu (and Wellington) are second to none. They know bikes, and they also know your name. I puzzled as to why anyone would go elsewhere. I look forward to continuing my association with your stores.

Rhonda Byrne
Your texts have centred my world. Thank you for sharing your journey, and opening my eyes.

Jacky James (Aka 'Iron Jack')
I will always remember that moment I saw you coming towards me on Lap 2 of the Ironman run. Unlike so many others, you were still running. You had come past us so full of doubt at the end of Lap 1, and approaching us on Lap 2 you had come to realise how tough the Ironman would be for you...and you embraced the suffering. You ran towards the finishing line, but you also ran from an old life to your new one. This symbolic gesture was not lost on me. I too 'kept running'. Pushing hard throughout the night of racing, I knew that others would weaken if I gave 100%. In a ride defined by darkness, I now find myself surrounded by light - thanks to you.

Paul Rawlinson
Your comments were from the heart, and I will always respect that you cared little if I 'liked' (or disliked) what you had to say. You said what would help me better myself, and that is true friendship. They say that when the student is ready the master will appear, and through listening to you I have learnt a lot about ambition, racing, and humbleness. In this world of infinite possibilities, you have taught me to seek out only success. I read those words everyday...and will continue to do so.

Mum and Dad
Another successful Graperide for both of you. I really hope I’m still cycling when I’m approaching 70. You both make me really proud. Dad – Thanks for the tyres, and tubes, and the seat. They were very much used, and made a huge difference. Do keep pedalling. You are better than you know, and just need a good run of solids rides to get to where you want to. You are however, ahead of where many ever dream of - Even if they are half your age. Mum - I still can't believe you said, "I'll give you a good luck hug here at home, so you won't have to hug me in front of everyone else". I will always be proud to stand next to you. Who was there when I was throwing up blood every night when I had tonsillitis every for successive years in my youth?? Who worked nights for all of those years so Sandra and myself never went without?? Who gave me my competitive streak?? You have given too much to be in the shadows.

Sandra
My little sister. I am so pleased we found our friendship. Your gift of the huge amount of bars came out of the blue, (after my subtle graduation hints!!), and they were very much used. I rode for two hours into work, and two hours home every Tuesday and Thursday throughout my training. This ended up being a 120km round trip by bike each day. I thought of Gary, Ella, Ari, and yourself on each of those rides. You have a fantastic family and you should be proud.

Alex, Amy, and David
It seems fitting that I only knew the finish had arrived when I heard your voices. You are the centre of my universe, and without you my I would lose balance in my life. Your goals will grow as you do, and I look forward to supporting you as you strive, and succeed, at whatever dreams you choose to chase.

Ruth
Finally then, on this great journey, I reach the very end - in terms of the words I use to talk about the 2011 Graperide Ultimate. It seems fitting then that the person who gets the last word is the one who loved me before all of this. Before Graperide Ultimate's, and Taupo Maxi Enduro’s, and night time rides, and cycling, and even self confidence. You loved me for who I was, and also who I could be. You help keep my feet on the ground, but you also give me the freedom to be who I am. I love you and I think you are perfect.

Thank you. Thank you one and all...

In Memory of Steve Avery

I never knew you.

But you inspired me to look towards the clouds,
Then try to reach them,
And finally try to fly above them.

The view above those clouds,
That I had once seen from so far below...is both rare and unique,
And made all of the effort worthwhile.

I will never be your equal,
But hope to someday be your friend.
May we inspire others.

Drinking

2011-04-09T15:07:00.007+12:00

"There is this to be said in favour of drinking, that it takes the drunkard first out of society, then out of the world".
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–82), U.S. essayist, poet, philosopher.

In 2004 I purchased a bottle of wine and put it in the cupboard. Nothing unusual about that, but there it sat - Unconsumed. That was unusual. I became quite conscious that, after about 2 weeks, I still had no desire to drink the wine. I said to Ruth "I don't want to drink that bottle", and the obvious reply was "Ok, we'll leave it there until we do". I replied that in fact I never want to drink it. And I have never had a drink since.

Since making that decision I have lost 30kg. Nothing is missed about drinking. Not one thing. Not the lost evenings drinking (and mornings recovering), not the cost, not the standing in the super market isle deciding what I’d be drinking next, not the buying of a bottle of wine whenever a University paper was completed, and certainly not the mindset that drinking is for pleasure. Is the marketing of alcohol ok?? What IS ok?? And what should be considered as normal??

I recall sitting in a tutorial for my second year Social Psychology paper, and we were specifically discussing the social consequences of social norms. I commented that alcohol was very aggressively marketed in New Zealand, and looked around the room to see about 15 students looking at me blankly as if I had grown a second head. These were intelligent young adults learning about the finer points of how the human mind sees this world. These were our 'best and brightest'.

Crime, violence and unwanted pregnancies are just some of the outcomes of alcohol. Some will say that there are positive effects also, with most Rugby and sporting clubs around the country basing their social functions, (and in some cases their reason for existence), on the consumption of alcohol. Getting drunk is ok...apparently. In this age of methamphetamine being the scourge of society, the reality is that more people are actually effected in a negative way by alcohol.

Former Labour MP Mark Peck probably sums it up best with his story of an addiction to alcohol. After years of binge drinking he finally quit politics and (after crashing his car) faced losing his marriage if he didn’t sober up. He woke up one day and saw the world in a new way – He was finally free.

The statistics presented by former Commissioner of Police Howard Broad are disturbing. In 2004...
- Alcohol was a factor in 22,000 family-violence incidents.
- Police processed more than 25,000 drink-drive offenders.
- Spent 16,000 police hours either taking drunks home or looking after them in custody.
- Spent thousands of hours dealing with alcohol-related sexual-assault investigations.

Economist Brian Easton estimates that the single biggest cost of alcohol is $1.7 billion in lost productivity each year. (That’s $1,700,000,000 we’ll never see in the name of a ‘few quiet ones’).

It is worth noting that the All Blacks, who have had Steinlager as an official sponsor, had two players arrested in the weekend of the 28 and 29 June 2008. One for drink driving, and then the well publicised ‘Jimmy Cowan incident’ outside a Dunedin nightclub. Jimmy Cowan was arrested for the third time in three months for a drinking related incident.

Alcohol consumption is driven by large multinational corporations, who market drinking (and it’s consumption) to target 'sectors' of the community, with the sole intention of maximising profits. They are accountable only to their shareholders. Alcohol is promoted as the answer...but what was the question??

I will leave the last word to former Labour MP Mark Peck. "90% of the alcohol is drunk by 10% of the population".

Kapiti to Taupo

2011-03-27T18:57:00.008+13:00

"The most important decision we make is whether we believe we live in a friendly universe."

Albert Einstein.

I wasn't going to write about this outing. I’m not sure why. I know why I’m going to make the effort though – Because it’s not...an effort. Emailing a buddy last week I simply added to the end of an email that I didn't understand his bigger mileages while he was preparing for the Taupo Enduro. Then I drifted away and made the comments that I had forgotten about this world of cycling. This world of mileages and time on the road. This world of feeling that you are one step closer to reaching your long term goal every time you reach a ride's destination. The 324km trip from Kapiti to Taupo would sum this philosophy up well, with me standing in the Great Lake at 6pm – I was sore and tired, but one day closer to the Graperide Ultimate...and I had a clear conscious that all that could be done had been.

It must be said, that a 4am departure time for a bike ride is quite civilised compared to 2am. Not that the extra two hours sleep make a difference really, but the traffic has a differing tone. No drunken louts or car loads of hoons. Just trucks and vans, setting off for their personal journeys, along this same road as mine. So it was then that I departed Kapiti well before sunrise, and began what would be my longest training ride (by distance) of the season.

The TT bike would stay at home this day and the words, “Stu you’ll have the wind up your arse all day”, were long forgotten. (It would seem that my 'weather insider' would not hit the mark for this journey). It would be a headwind. Additionally, with Taupo 1250 feet above sea level it would also be uphill much of the day. The tone however was set by a sobering time check at Levin. I can cruise up to Levin in 90 minutes, but despite a hard pace for the first part of the journey I found the time at 1:45, and realised that this would be a long day. I had enough food for 16 hours, and now didn't feel so foolish for the extra stash.

Levin came and went though, and my first real moment of the trip was shortly afterwards at the Foxton bridge. This bridge is long. The kind of long bridge where children playing the ‘hold your breath on the bridge’ game...don’t even try. I have also experienced frustrated drivers overtaking into my lane while I’ve been crossing the bridge by bike. Nice. So dangers can exist. Fortunately there is a walkway under the bridge. I didn't bother with that though, and for some reason crossed the main bridge for the first time in about four years. Just as well. Halfway across I looked down below and noted that there were 200 to 300 cows on the walkway. Off to milking one assumes. I sat on 35kms per hour into a headwind, so I wouldn't be off the bridge thanks to passing trucks. Foxton has no real landmarks apart from a water tower, and it also being the last stop before the Himatangi straights.

The long straight after Foxton is a blessing for any endurance cyclist. There is basically nothing to do but cycle for what seems like hours. No features. No signs. No elements to allow that part of the circuit to be broken up mentally. In short it’s tough work. Add to this the headwind, and I simply told myself that Sanson was next, and I’d being hanging a left towards Taupo at the next small town.

It was while heading along the Himatangi straights that it dawned on me that the trip to Taupo is not a long endless road, but nor was it a series of towns. In fact it seems to be (more or less) three distinct 100km rides back to back. Kapiti to Sanson is the first ride, with Sanson to Waiouru the second, and finally Waiouru to Taupo the final leg. Cycling it seems, allows you to see the world you are travelling through in a different way. Thus I accepted that Paul Rawlinson was right – Point to point cycle trips are the coolest outings.

Reaching Sanson I knew the sneaky speed camera would be no threat as I passed through the town, but new elements were being introduced to my ride. Something I hadn't experienced in a while was being felt. It was called “cold”. Yes, I had a spare gear for the ride, but I was thinking ahead to Taupo. Thus I went to text Ruth...and found the cell phone battery was flat. I felt ashamed for this oversight, as everything is usually checked. It would not be the last dead cell phone before this trip was over.

Turning right at Bulls, and therefore towards Taupo (rather than New Plymouth – Which is actually a nice spot if you ever get the time to visit), I focused on this second part of the trip. In short – Long straights and longer hills. The wind was steady now, and I found myself really pushing at times. There would be just two towns for me to pass through in the next 100kms (Hunterville and Taihape), and thus it would be a case of simply keeping to the left and trying to get towards Taupo before the rain.

A storm is a storm - Whether you in a boat or on a bike.

Yes, this weekend’s weather had a single theme. A weather bomb was forecast to hit Taupo on the Friday, and I was aiming at getting into town just before it. I would get wet instead. At 7:30am I had 2 minutes of light drizzle. Then again at 9am I would get several minutes of rain. Then the same at 11am. But getting closer to Hunterville I knew the teasing was done with, and the black clouds loomed ahead. Feeling like I was suddenly in a very small boat, in the middle of a large storm, I sensed that I was rather small in the larger scheme of things. I also reminded myself that this rain was going to make me pretty damned difficult to spot (despite multi flashing lights and a reflective top), and thus I braced for the real ride to begin. At 1142 the heavens opened up. I was soaked within five minutes and felt the chaffing start on my seat. The rain wouldn't stop. 500 meters short of Hunterville I would also, in the midst of heavy rain, get my first puncture of the day. It wouldn't be my last. And I wouldn't find the cause until well and truly back in Kapiti.

It must be said that cycling through towns on a longer ride is very cool. You are exposed to the hustle bustle of a small community for about five minutes, and then it's back to the reality of getting to the destination. Hunterville was no exception, with the township passed and the kms to Taihape noted. The winds continued, and I started to get some momentum back. The hills that followed were long and steep, but I didn't care. For many years now I had wondered what it was like to ride up these hills. Was there more room on the side of the road than it appears?? Were the cars passing too close?? Did it seem like it went on for ages?? 'No', 'Yes', and 'Yes'.

Things flattened out though, and then another puncture. Standing at the side of the road I knew something was wrong. Aside from the puncture that is. Several minutes earlier I had felt my head go all floppy and it would be fair to say I was light headed. I was now cold too. I had a stash of spare food and ate a bar on the spot. More food was put into my back pocket. The puncture was fixed, with my current state summed up by me not even checking for the puncture's cause. I was getting frustrated at my progress and if I had known what was ahead I probably would have wondered why I was bothering at all. The Desert Road would be the true test on this ride.

Taihape was finally reached, and with it a dash along the busy main road, and departure without a second look. There seemed to be nothing to make me want to stop. Waiouru was next and I felt colder as the road progressed. This journey to Taupo had truly started. The fun was gone, and soreness had replaced it. I looked around occasionally, as I cycled, almost expecting to see something interesting. Something different than what I had seen in the journey's by car anyway. Perhaps another cyclist also heading north. The chat would speed time up, with no racing between us. No 'taking turns on the front'. Just chatting on a longer ride. Journey's shared and in some ways halved…if we talked long enough. I carried on alone though.

The Desert Road - Nice by bike in warmer weather.

On one of the longer straights a truck went past with what look like a football on the back - It was the size of a small house. It also looked to be wrapped in brown paper. All very odd. But it was something that broke up the ride. (Ruth and the kids also saw this - So not a hallucination!!). Out of nowhere though arrived Waiouru. "Just over 100kms to go" I told myself. I wasn't to know it, but the ride had just begun.

No Subway for lunch at Waiouru. Not this time. The section of road ahead of me was well known when travelling by both car and bike. Yes, the 'Ruapehu Cycle Classic' had introduced me to the Desert Road. My one and only DNF (broken chain, no tools, lessons learnt), had seen me almost reach the end of the Desert Road, and once again I'd experience what is quite a pleasant ride. Well it was pleasant heading up the hill away from Waiouru. This would be one of the most surreal stretches of road I've ever ridden. At times I was doing a pathetic 10kms per hour into the screaming head wind, but the pace would raise to 25-28kms per hour once out of the wind…going up a climb. Crazy.

After what seemed like about an hour of pushing into the wind I finally reached the aforementioned ascent (that would see my pace increase). This would signal the start of the winding roads. This would signal the start of some descents. This would signal a milestone on the ride. No - This would simply signal me saying, "You have got f***ing joking", as I looked ahead and realised I was now only halfway along the central plateau. This one moment was the only time on the ride where I really felt despondent. I carried on, with frustration slowing becoming replaced by the acceptance that this ride would simple take a lot longer than intended.

Finally I reached the highest point of the ride. The remaining climbs were no problem, and every descent was cherished. This ride was now coming to a close, and with Turangi approaching quickly (figuratively and literally), I thought about the section of road ahead. I was very familiar with the stretch of road between Turangi. I recalled the Enduro and Maxi Enduro, where the fatigue really hit me on this stretch of road on both occasions. I recalled also, the special moments - The elderly woman who had stopped on the side of the road and clapped me while I carried on (during the Enduro) - Or the closing several hours of the Maxi Enduro, where chats with other cyclists seemed to give me more energy than all else. These were happy memories.

As luck would have it, I would be doing multiple rides between Turangi and Taupo once again this weekend. Three days later I would be riding north again. This time, not towards my family in Taupo, but away from them. This time not finishing a journey, but starting one. Our family van had died. Thus, at the crack of dawn three days after cycling to Taupo, I departed Turangi (which is how far we had managed to travel south), and cycled to Taupo once again to obtain a rental vehicle. So the weekend was extended, and in hindsight I was thankful we were all safe.

The road to Taupo - SH1 the whole way.

The trip north from Turangi (both times) was relatively quick. The headwind seemed to disappear, and Hatepe posed little problem on both occasions. The final stretch into Taupo therefore was enjoyed (with a bit more soreness on the first trip north!!), and on the first trip north I arrived in Taupo to great my family. We chatted briefly, and I noted the calm surroundings and wondered if it wasn't more appropriate to have gail force winds and rain surrounding us. The world seemed tranquil at this journey's end, as it often does. We then dropped in to see Jacky James, and the following day would see her complete the Taupo Ironman.

It was a weekend to remember for good reasons, and we would all take away the experience of the Ironman once again. (Albeit as a supporter). All weekend we used raincoats and umbrellas. The sun followed however, as it does, and soon enough the Graperide Ultimate will follow the training. I said that endurance cycling was behind me after the 2009 edition of the Graperide Ultimate. The Ironman followed for me on that occasion, and I therefore return a better athlete. I sometimes wonder where this journey will go next, as I have no idea what is after the Graperide Ultimate. All I know is that the Graperide in 2005 was my very first cycle race, and thus event will hold a special place in my heart. With the training done I await the journey south, and then will have one task - To race.

"Yes", this is a friendly universe.

Four Hills

2011-02-25T19:03:00.018+13:00

Woe to you oh earth and sea,
for the Devil sends the beast with wrath,
because he knows the time is short.
Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the beast,
for it is a human number,
its number is six hundred and sixty six.
Opening lyrics of 'Number of the Beast' (Iron Maiden)

Every ride of note has a moment where the fun is replaced with pure effort, and the smile not only disappears from sight…but creates discomfort when occasionally brought into use. This was one of those rides. 'The Beast' (as it was known in the week before the ride) was always thought to be the final portion of this outing – The Rimutaka Hill. I knew I'd be starting my first of five climbs up the Rimutaka's ten hours into a 16 hour ride. These solemn words then, went through my head on SH2, as the final climb of the day grew closer.

I had a sense of purpose at that point, but more acutely, I had a sore backside and it was growing tiresome at times to breath. In short, I knew that the mental part of the day was just starting. Physically I was reaching the point at which I would soon be tired, and thus I was about to start the true ride - The mental ride - within the next 45 or so minutes. I also reminded myself that I was doing the Four Hills, and this would therefore be something to cherish in almost Taupo proportions.

Most of all though I thought of nothing and rode for extended periods of time with no thoughts going through my head except for the continual scanning of the road ahead for debris. On this day I would sometimes be sore, sometimes thirsty, sometimes hungry, and sometimes feeling sick - But I was always free. Free of everything.

Truth be known I really only got my head around the concept of the Four Hills in the week leading up to the ride. The ride was one I had given much thought to and it was to act as a longer (hilly) training ride leading up to the Graperide Ultimate. Once again I'd be doing April’s 505km race, and likewise once again the Kapiti Cycling Club were running the 'Personal Challenge', as they last did in 2009. The bi-annual personal challenges were brought about to challenge individuals at endurance cycling, with the individual essentially choosing what was for them 'endurance'. Matt Oliver compiled a number of challenges and after reviewing the categories I figured it was a little defeatist to complete a 100km or 200km ride as the highlight of the season when ahead was a 505km race.

Thus I once again decided that the Hors Catégorie would be more appropriate. Thus, I came up with something a little more fitting for the situation. Four Hills was to count towards the hill climbing, with the Graperide Ultimate acting as the endurance ride. All in all 820kms of riding would be ahead of me for these two rides, and these thoughts were racing through me head at 1:22am on the morning of the Four Hills. I wouldn't need to switch off a beeping alarm clock at 1:30am. In fact, I was pretty much wired and ready to go there and then. So I did. And not for the only time that day I'd find myself ahead of schedule.

Leaving the house at 2am I rode north towards the Aka's, with I suppose the naive feeling we often have on longer journeys. Safety is sometimes an illusion of comfort, and by the time I reached Waikanae I had already been passed by two car loads of drunken louts. I reminded myself that these people - These motorists - Were not my friends. Every car represented, potentially the end of my ride, and realistically the end of my life if I was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Being fully prepared to ride off the road to safety, I passed a group of youths walking along the road. They were fairly vocal. "Yah f***ing c***. F*** off yah queer f***er!!!!". Delightful.

The inevitable thrown beer bottle was expected, but didn't follow. The street lights eventually ended and I rode into the darkness. I would only get to talk to one other person in the entire day, and that would be eight hours later. (A pleasant exchange about the respective sporting results the night before). At that point though I accepted that I had no friends at all on this road, with the daylight (still hours away) bringing a slight reprieve from the current surroundings. I then reached the base of the Aka's, and quietly deposited all surplus drinks safely at the side of the road. The day was a simple one. Four Hills (Aka's climb, Paekakariki Hill, Haywood's Hill, and the Rimutaka's Hill) climbed five times each. Then once completed I would ride home through to the Aka's summit, subsequently giving a sixth and final descent of the day down the Aka’s to Waikanae...then home.

The Four Hills - All climbed five times each.

Aka's Climb

Starting my first climb on the first hill of the day I had a number of time frames in mind for each climb. Two weeks earlier a dry run had been completed, with the outing 177kms, and involving just one climb of each hill. Thus I had calculated the time for the circuit today to be approximately 16 hours. I would be just six minutes out by days end. These thoughts were pushed further and further back in my mind as the day progressed however - The task before me was not to be underestimated or taken lightly.

Likewise, I needed to keep my wits about me, as the 20 to 25 possums seen on that first ascent were expected to be seen on the roads on the subsequent descents - And they were - And these truly simple creatures would pose the first potential hurdle of the day. Expressions such as 'Like a possum in the headlights’ may come across as a bit of a cliché, but the reality is that they really do stop to watch their impending doom, and then at their leisure wander away at the last second. This leads to the rider planning to gracefully move around a sitting possum, and then quickly adjust their path as the possum casually walks to a safer spot at the last second. The possums did this regardless of the direction taken to avoid hitting them. It could have been worse, as sheep would have been in a flock of simpletons, all attempting to make themselves more useless than their neighbour in terms of their positioning.

The summit was reached on success climbs, and I noticed that the times were all within 20 seconds of each other. No slowing as the subsequent ascents were made. Pacing on rides like this is a key issue, so this was a pleasing start to the day. Pleasing also was the full moon, as I discovered that my headlight used for two hour runs in the dark, funnily enough dies after three hours. Nice. Spare lights were on the bike anyway, but lessons learnt. I reached the Aka's summit for the last time and, surrounded by the morning twilight, and raised one finger (index - not middle) to signify that one hill had been successfully overcome. The descent was a quick one, and this was a theme for the day also, with each successive descent quicker than the last. With the daylight arriving I stopped at the base of the climb and collected all of my spare drinks. These bottles would be needed again on another day. Then to home for a resupply.

The Possum - Possibly the world's second most stupid animal.

Paekakariki Hill

Day clothes on, drinks restocked, and daylight now around me - I set off for Paek. Hill and looked forward to shorter climbs for Hill #2. I was now a full 20 minutes ahead of schedule, and the weather looked perfect. That is, mild overcast, a slight wind, and not too hot. The day had begun well. Reaching the bottom of Paek. Hill I decided not to stash away any spare bottles. I had just four bottles with me, so couldn't afford to have any go walkies.

Water however would not be a problem. The day before I had done a drop-off of water at both the Haywood's Hill and the Rimutaka's Hill. This would leave me with more than enough for the entire day. Food would also be no problem, with Hammer Perp at the ready for continual fuelling all day. Thus, the first climb of Hill #2 started, and I once again focused on steady spinning to the top. I would see more cyclists on the roads this day than I had ever seen in my life. (Excluding races of course).

The odd thing was that regardless of whether I was ascending or descending, they were always going in the opposite direction. This hill would be no different. I reached the top and had a quick descent, seeing a few KCC riders coming up the other way. Each descent seemed to bring more and more cyclists climbing to the top. Some I'd see descend, as I climbed again, and others were not seen again on that ride. All however would be home before I’d even reach the Rimutaka's however.

Reaching the summit for the final time I looked down the hill and was thankful that I'd completed the climb. I told myself that half the day was now done, but realistically I knew this was simply a mind game to keep the pace ticking along. I was grateful however that the descents were going smoothly however. The 3rd or 4th corner on the Paek. Hill descent allows for a particularly fast turn of pace, and at that stage the winds at the top of hill were a southerly, so I had a couple of occasions where it was probably best that traffic wasn't coming the other way.

I then looked across the Kapiti Coast and followed the road down the Paek. Hill descent towards the Haywood's Hill. The roads were filled with groups of cyclists, but none of them acknowledged me as they ascended. I flew down the hill and was now nearing seven hours of cycling.

Haywood's Hill

The Haywood's Hill is actually two hills, with a plateau in the middle section. The ascent on this climb would incorporate both rises - As it should. This hill would represent the shortest climb of the day and ironically I'd see the most cyclists while climbing and descending the two sections of each climb. I can only assume that there were two large groups of cyclists about 30 minutes apart from each other, as I saw a line of cyclists riding in one's and two's the entire way up the climb on two separate occasions.

The highlight of the Haywood's Hill climb would have to be a cyclist who had given a wave while descending, (when I was on the first ascent), later having a double take and pointing at me when I was descending for the last time, about to start my final ascent. I can only assume he had cycled off somewhere else in the interim - And he look somewhat puzzled seeing me later on his way home. I finished the final ascent and opened my stash of drinks at the summit. It had been tucked away under some bushes that were yet to get the direct sunlight, and thus the water was nicely chilled. I had enough water for carrying some in my backpack to the Rimutaka's Hill, but with another stash there I saw little point.

So all drinks refilled, and feeling a tad relived that no one had removed the water I setoff for a sedate descent down the Haywood's towards the Hutt Valley. Ok - I sat on about 75kms per hour in the middle of the road and zipped through to the intersection on SH2, with the road north having me enjoy a slight tailwind. I'd be sitting on 35-40kms per hour for portions of the ride north, and things were looking rosy. Well - Reasonably rosy would be better summary of the situation.

After nine hours and 15 minutes on a bike the occasional stretch of the legs while cycling doesn't really help you feel much better, and I sure as hell wasn't stopping, so I accepted that everything would get gradually more painful as the remainder of the ride progressed. One thing was for sure, I knew I had five ascents of the Rimutaka's Hill to go, and I REALLY wanted to get the first one done before making up my next lot of Perp. This would leave me four climbs with my fresh set of food.

Clear day, smooth road, and fast descent. Perfect.

Rimutaka's Hill

Arriving at the base of the Rimutaka's announced the true start of my day. My second stash of water had been left in the grassy verge of a property at the base of the hill, (I had chatted to the owner the day before), and two points occurred to me.

Firstly - I didn't have enough Perp left to do another climb and descent. So the water was opened, and Perp made up for the final portion of the day. Secondly, I needed to push the water to behind the tree (not next to it) if I was to use this spot again. Warm water on a warm day - Yummy.

The first ascent of Hill #4 actually had me feeling in good spirits and feeling rather revitalised. I knew that I needed to focus on just one climb at a time, with the summit my sole target until it was reached. The heat had been pretty low key all day, but on the final hill this would be a different story when I was sheltered from the winds. As I reached the first set of road works I felt the sweat start to run down my face - There was no wind and the heat coming off the road was utterly oppressive. Mentally though I would not be broken.

I knew that each climb would be one step closer to the finishing this final hill. About a third of the way up the climb you see the summit, and I suspect that this is the biggie in getting to the top. Ignore how far you have to go, and focus on what is just ahead. Spinning the pedals, always spinning the pedals, I carried on and finally reached the top. (Note to self: Don't cycle over a sandbag on any of the remaining four climbs - No matter how small it is - Spinning wheels in sand on a sloping climb is fun just once). Getting to the top I noted the missing café (when did this go??), and zipped up my top.

One aspect of my day that was totally unexpected was the fun of descending. On longer rides I used to see a descent as a part of the ride to 'not pedal', but now I clicked through to top gear and wound up the bike until I was having cars and trucks pulling over to let me past. Yep - "Get outta my way, this descent’s fast, and they'll just get faster!!". And they did. The tricky part was making sure there was no traffic behind me for the U-Turn at the base of the hill. Not a good look to slam the brakes on with a car right behind you. All went well though and I reached the bottom and turned the bike around for the next ascent.

After two climbs I restocked the water. The water had been moved to behind the tree, but the status had be upgraded from 'Warm' to 'Warmer'. A new approach would be needed if I was to have a stash at the base of the Rimutaka's Hill. Coincidentally, I started to feel a tad sick in the guts at around this stage. Nice. This was all too much mucking around though. All the stops were very brief, but the smaller moments of stopping tend to add up. The next stop would be once the fifth climb was completed, and thought would be to simply top up drinks.

The next climb went well, except that the traffic seemed to be going about twice the speed as the last couple of climbs. ('No' - It wasn't me going slower - My time to the top was the same). I guess all you need is a gap in the traffic and front cars to be flying up the hill, and everyone else will follow suit. Bit like sheep really. Another descent and no traffic at all the whole way down. Getting to know every corner I was feeling very safe, but travelled at 45-75 the whole way down. A fast descent is great for lifting the spirits, and I now had just two climbs to go. The 4th climb saw my time to the top drop by about 45 seconds to a minute. I knew I was getting tired now, as the mind was beginning to wander.

Two weeks later I'd be in Taupo for the New Zealand Ironman. This year I'd be there in the capacity of watching / supporting, but it wouldn't be a holiday, as I'd be cycling up from Kapiti. Thus, the fantasies of my perfect vantage point while watching the runners began to take shape…a shaded tent…walls rolled up for maximum fresh air…container...no…bucket…no…barrel of ice filled with differing orange juice bottles…a cooked chicken to one side…filled with stuffing…and….a deckchair…for me.

'Yes' - It would be a good day out. I also decided that this might mean getting comfortable enough that I may just wave and call out from my seat, as getting up may interrupt the setting. Time would tell. The fifth and final climb arrived then. No more fantasies of days ahead. No fingers raised as I reached the top. No smiles. No acknowledgement of the completion of the hills, (other than double checking the watch to check that it was indeed five completed climbs). It was done, and I had had enough of the hills for one day. Time to go home.

Part of the Rimutakas Hill climb

Homeward

I really looked forward to a break now, but home waited for me. I had a brief detour at the Jousting event in the Upper Hutt, with offers of free stuffed potatoes from Tim Neal a welcome morsel to break up my outing. I didn't find him however, which may have been for the best, as I looked at every grassy verge on the way through the Aka's in longing manner, knowing how much I'd love to simply lie down and do nothing. The climbs seemed so much more gentle than normally experienced, and I simply rode through the forested areas feeling no emotion, and simply sipping on my drinks from time to time. Then - Out of the blue - I reached the top.

The summit had never looked so good. Not even on the Aka's Triple loops had I been this relieved to get to the summit. My climbs were now officially over. A descent followed, but at a very sedate pace. I knew the traffic would be about, and at this time on a Saturday afternoon cyclists probably wouldn't be expected. I was right too. No close calls, but the cars were travelling at pace, and this was no time for mistakes. I carried on descending and passed the spot where I had left my bottles many hours earlier. It was all green lights on the way home, and I made a point of taking it very easy for the last 500 meters.

This was not a race, and there was a lot to be said for winding down the ride, and arriving feeling on top of things. I turned the corner into my street and felt safe and at ease with the world. It would still daylight for several more hours and I'd relax while enjoying what was left of this day. As with all longer rides, the start didn't feel like earlier that day - Rather it had been a memory of another outing many days earlier. For this day though, this outing, I had done enough. The ride ended up being 316kms, and this will possibly be the hilliest 300km ride I'll ever do. Until next time anyway.

The Beast then - Did not play on my mind on this ride. Where was it then?? Amongst the drunken louts hurling abuse at me?? Taking the form of stupid possums in my path?? Behind the wheel of impatient drivers?? Or perhaps in the form of upward heading roads essentially leading to nowhere?? No. The Beast is within you – It’s that voice you hear, which may say, "Switch off the alarm", or "It's raining today", or “It’s too windy”, or maybe "I can't do that". In short, that part of you that tells you in a voice clearer than any reasoning you'll ever hear - before or since - that there is time. Time to wait, until next time.

There is not time. Not for everything you'll ever want to do. So step back and ask yourself this - "If my life depended on it, could I complete the ride of my life??".

‘Yes’ you could...and ‘yes’ it does.

Four Hills

Face your fears or die.

Death finding you inwardly.

We all die - So live.

Lake Rotoiti Swim

2011-02-02T19:16:00.006+13:00

Being your best is not so much about overcoming the barriers other people place in front of you as it is about overcoming the barriers we place in front of ourselves.
Kieren Perkins

For some reason the Lake Rotoiti swim was on the horizon all year. The swim itself was, in some ways, meaningless. But it nevertheless acted as a symbolic emblem of what so many people strive for in sports - Once thought of, you either complete the outing or choose to walk away from something that once seemed impossible, but was now seemingly within your grasp.

The symbolism of the swim didn't end at just completing a swim the length of a lake at 2,000 feet. No. Lake Rotoiti is (apparently) the coldest lake in New Zealand during the winter, and I had the 'pleasure' of a colder than expected dip in March when I swam the width of the lake in March. That swim was, at the risk of sounding dramatic, some of the most terrifying 16 minutes of my life, with the cold waters and absolute darkness beneath me hiding anything it wanted. I decided to return to face this moment once again. Only this time it would be on my terms, with not the width of the lake to be overcome…but the entire length. Lake Rotoiti is 7.6kms long.

My focus in terms of swim training was aimed at the 2kms I would complete at the 2010 Taupo Half Ironman, so longer swims would arrive, but only in this context. Half Ironman would come and go, leaving me happy with my efforts…and smashed. Thus Christmas was all about recovery, as my mouth infection was coming along nicely and at it's peak I endured an ulcer the size of your thumbnail at the back of my throat. Endurance cycling was now on the horizon again, so my plans of 'lots of cycling' were scrapped - I was in Blenheim for a week and did about 80kms in total. A holiday in every aspect.

Swimming though had one last outing in 2010. I figured that with my focus switching to cycling after the holiday I wouldn't get the chance to do this swim again for quite some time.

So it was that plans were confirmed, an early start had, and the trip to Lake Rotoiti safely carried out. We had speed down to the end of the lake by 7am, and all that remained was getting the wetsuit on and discussing the game plan. Unless tides are involved, swimming is fairly simple as far as strategies go - You swim until you need drink / food and then you signal. It was a quick briefing.

Looking around I marvelled at the huge eels that circled around the wharf. I expected to see them, and much thought was given to their presence on this swim. Nothing is ever given to you when you compete in a larger event, and I needed to decided how much I wanted to reach the end of the lake. The eels are protected and get BIG, so I decided that even if I saw them on the swim I'd carry on and get the job done. Besides - The way I saw it, I was the biggest eel in the lake. Hopefully.

The start of the swim was pure magic. A calm mist lay over the entire southern end of the lake and the water was slightly warmer than I thought it would be. I had also done basically nothing for nine days, so was well and truly rested. Feeling good I took it easy for the first five minutes, then switched to breathing every three strokes. The pace and effort then picked up, as I knew these sheltered waters would last until the midway point, with white caps and a head wind to follow. This is how it turned out too.

The start was perfect.

With the folks doing a great job in the boat I simply focused on swimming and occasionally waved out for a drink. It's amazing how much time you have to think on a three hour swim, and feeling calm in the water it was all positive. Little in the way of reflecting over 2010's efforts were thought about, not the Ironman in March, or the Wellington marathon, nor even the Taupo Half Ironman. No. I simply watched the shadows in the trees and imagined what it would be like to walk through the trees at that very spot. Or occasionally I would simply use the reflection from the rising sun to know where I was heading, with no sighting carried out for two to three minutes at a time.

There existed only two landmarks for this entire swim. Firstly the base of Mount Robert (which meant the end of the sheltered waters), and then secondly the finish. Pretty simply stuff. Except that Mount Robert is HUGE, and that 'almost being at the base' still leaves a lot of swimming until you are actually 'past the base'.

The game plan extended itself to thinking about 'attacking' once I reached the choppy water. Basically switch from three stroke breathing to two stroke breathing. Yeah, good one. Several mouthfuls of water later, and feeling decidedly out of breath I realised that I had been pushing along at a decent pace already, and the status que was getting me to the finish at about the fastest pace I could…with blowing up before the finish. It was also during the open water that the power was noticeably less available. The fatigue and lack of training were evident, but I would be fine. I sure as hell wasn't stopping, that's for sure.

After an hour I still felt fresh.

Then the waters calmed slightly once again. Still a slight headwind, but now I focused on a red vehicle parked at the foreshore. The finish line was literally in sight and I now thought about picking up the pace once again. So for the last two kms I breathed once every four strokes. Not usually an option for longer periods of swimming, but the body (and breathing) were now adjusted fully, and I was quite surprise at the relatively ease of pushing the pace while getting less oxygen.

With the end now getting clearer I had a quiet chuckle about the $3 to $4 fees for the local crowded pool, with this - the biggest pool of all - free to anyone who dared. The only cost was petrol for the boat and the occasional fright of swimming into a branch…thinking the eels had decided I was worth eating. I wouldn't see them though, and I never actually saw a single eel the entire time I was in the water. Standing on both wharfs "yes", but not in the water.

Conscious of the time I really pushed the pace for the last 500 meters. I knew I could do a sub-three hour swim, but needed a little more effort to do so. As it turned out, I made it with three minutes to spare. 2:57 of swimming non-stop. This was the same pace as the 5km Taupo Epic swim a year earlier, but with 50% more distance. Surprisingly, I wasn't smashed like that day in Taupo, and I actually felt fresher than many three hour rides I've done - obviously I was felling a lot fresher than the three hour runs!!

Finish in sight and 7.6kms almost done.

A recovering drink at the end allowed me time to watch the eels reclaim their territory back once again. They are strictly protected in this area get fairly friendly. This footage wasn't filmed on our day our, but this is what the eels are like…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RKZ2ny7ydo

In contrast to the Taupo Epic, where I collapsed on the beach and lay in exhaustion, this outing left me in good spirits. Our family had a leisurely 30 minute walk along one of the lake's tracks, and we enjoyed the silence of the forest...when my children were occasionally quiet that is. they are quite an adventurous bunch my kids, and I sometimes wonder what they will set out for, after seeing their Dad having outings such as this. I have already been told by my nine year old that he wants to run around Australia. I didn't tempt fate by querying this further.

The lasting memory of the day is while driving back to Blenheim. I asked Ruth if she thought a double length of Lake Rotoiti was feasible. That would be quite some swim, with it being a nice touch to sign in at the Cold Water hut's visitor book at the end of the lake, "Swimming two lengths of the lake - One length done". A few trampers would wonder if it was a windup.

But that can all wait. The year has come to an end, and with it comes closure on a memorable year. Now for a break and a new year and a fresh start await. The Graperide is in April and with it I look to continue my run of completed the most laps. Truth be known though, I'd swap all of those previous laps to walk onto the stage and get a medal on 2 April. The months ahead will have no half measures.

Taupo Half Ironman

2011-01-24T11:44:00.006+13:00

"Forget about likes and dislikes. They are of no consequence. Just do what must be done".
George Bernard Shaw

Self belief is a funny thing. Have it and you don't know any better, but lack it, and you sometimes feel like you're on the wrong side of a one way mirror. So it was then, that this journey would begin with nothing. Except for the support of people who saw more within me than I could see at that moment.

Running towards the finish line for the Wellington marathon I truly believed at the time that I was experiencing my last event in a long time. Maybe ever. The days that followed left me struggling to walk, and thus self pity would need to wait until I had recovered enough to not have walking require my full attention. In the midst of this, I had a conversation that reminded me of my goal.

Leaning against a table in the foyer at work, I discussed with a colleague my feelings of disappointment. I was gutted. Not just at running a rubbish time for the marathon, (it was a very poor outing), but moreso my feeling that the outings I had planned - all acting as building blocks towards future goals now had me seriously questioning where I was truely at.

"Lets be realistic", I was told. "You struggled with a marathon. Who the hell do you think you are to aim any higher??"

Who the hell are any of us?? Really. Why should anyone attempt what was once thought impossible?? When do we draw the line on what our limits are?? And how do know when all of this ends?? Our life that is. That was given to us.

So it began. No doubts or self pity. Heading off to Taupo once more, and setting out to once again to be near the Great Lake. Thinking of the finish this time, rather than just the start line. But all the while however remembering what the future can bring if I choose to believe in myself.

Before the journey proper began however, I received two emails. Paul Rawlinson and Jacky James took it upon themselves to ask me a simple question. Essentially - "You aren't going to let one bad day derail your goals are you?" These words of support would not go unnoticed - Nor would their sentiments.

It would seem fitting then that in the midst of these thoughts of ultra endurance events I would set out - for the first time in my life - on a journey that included a great deal of speed working my training. To be honest. I relished it. 'Hill repeats', '1km intervals', and 'Zone 3' became phrases I would come to know well. As would getting up at 5:15am. Being in my last year of my university studies and, also working full time, my only opportunity to train during the week was before work. It must be said - I now see that sleeping in is somewhat overrated.

So the day of the Half Ironman arrived, and along with it the irony that I would sleep through not one, but two alarms that I had set. Sleeping, blissfully unaware that 3:45am and then 4:00am had come and gone, I suppose this was my last opportunity to grab any moments of sleep that I hadn't experienced in any kind of abundance over the last few months. So it was then, that I was finally woken. My focus for this event was 'Don't stop'. So looking at my watch I knew there really would be no stopping until the finish line. I was somewhat startled by the relatively late time and announced "4:22am - f***!!". In some ways the race had begun already.

Just about crossed eyed upon exiting the water, the run to T1 was all about thinking ahead.

The drive to the event was the 20kms from Hatepe to Taupo. My eyes widened as we drove past the waters edge, and I witnessed whitecaps on the lake. My view was that the rougher the weather the better, with times not relevant, and only placings counting towards my day. Thus, I was possibly the only entrant to be somewhat disappointed to see that the lake was somewhat calmer at the northern end of the course where we'd race. "Still time to roughen up" I thought.

Arriving at the transition area it was all go. Being very aware of the time left I fitted the gear, and double checked everyone in a quick, but not rushed manner. Forgetting anything now would not be a good look. I did stop however when the drink bottles got placed onto the bike. I looked at the drink bottle holders and simply thought that if they broke off I'd simply carry drinks in my back pocket.

Heading down to the lake I stopped and was asked by a spectator if I was ok. "I forgot to take off my wedding ring" I replied. After losing the last one I wasn't keen to have this one come off during the swim. Tugging at it I finally came to the conclusion that it wasn't coming if anytime soon, so race with it I would - For the first time ever. I warmed up and felt all alone in this world. I some ways I had been rushing everywhere for so many months, and I had these final few moments to reflect on this day. Many thoughts went through my head, but one was certain - I was however ready for the battle.

Reaching the first corner buoy in 17 mins I now knew that a time of 30-35 mins was not realistic. Breathing to my right side was ace, but to the left was rubbish. One week earlier I had finished a short course tri leading by 30 seconds after the swim. However I exited the water after the 2kms on this day absolutely buggered. So much so that I was struggling to focus for the first few moments on the run towards T1. My only thoughts were, "lift the goggles...pull the wetsuit zip down...remove your arms...goggles and cap off...run faster!!". Run I did. I was feeling better as I neared the bikes, with the bike leg having just one thought, "Zone 3".

In the weeks leading up to the Taupo Half Ironman I really struggled to hit the numbers on the bike, with the only exception being during any races I participated in. On the longer training rides I never even reached Zone 3 for my heart rate. My goal for the ride however was to sit in Zone 3 for as long as possible. Without this approach I knew that I'd have a moderate ride out to Reporoa - Which included a very nice tailwind - And I'd then get smashed on the way back. If this day was going to end up in pieces, then it would be due my efforts...not lack of them. Better the wolf than the lamb.

The conditions on the bike were fully expected, and the return leg needed a gameplan.

The time split was 1:20 at Reporoa. Not fantastic, but in terms of my heart rate I was right on target. Around 1:50 now seemed a likely best possible time. I turned around I stayed in the big chain ring…for another 40 minutes.

Cramps started on the way back, but nearing the hill I knew it was two climbs to Taupo. Maintaining a moderate intensity on the climb, and then pushing the pace on the descent I started to pass other riders. More again as I stayed on the bars through Taupo's streets.

All went well at T2, except being told to clip up my cycle helmet. I was running in the transition area - 20 feet from my bike area in the rack, and am still a little puzzled as to what the issue was. Perhaps I'd trip up and knock my head?? Rules are rules though, and I complied, said "No comment!!", and did a super quick changeove, and setoff for the last 21kms of this event.

Cramping was with me now, but frankly I didn't care. I pushed as hard as I could and only thought was of turning around at Rainbow Drive. Being passed by some faster runners (who were on their second lap) I tried to match their pace to ensure I didn't drop off from an honest effort too much. After the Ironman in March the run was an absolute pleasure. Relatively speaking. It was like someone letting us go back towards Taupo early on each lap, with what I consider to be the tough part of the run omitted. At the turnaround point on Lap 1 I commented to someone that all we needed to do now was count off the miles. I knew however that any feelings of comfort would mean a day ending in tears. My goals for the day were crystal clear and there was still work to be done.

Finished - At last I could look back and reflect. This had been quite some outing.

After starting the run with maximum gear I slowly lightened the load. Lap 1 saw me hand off the heart rate monitor, fuel belt, hat, and two drink bottles. The moment of truth coming at the start of Lap 2. Looking towards my right I spotted another participant, knowing that this day's outcome would be measured in part relative to where I finished compared to them. No math needed. I was now on the lake front heading out on Lap 2, and they were yet to finish Lap 1. I knew that all I needed to do was run hard enough that it hurt and I'd be smiling at the finish. Hurt it did. And smiling followed. At the finish.

Several people said that they had never seen me smile at a finish line, but this day was different. Next to the Taupo Enduro and Maxi Enduro I can say that I am truly happy with how the event went.

A lie down on the grass was desperately needed. I was totally wrecked. The lake called for me, and I found myself standing, and shivering, letting the cold help the legs recover as much as possible. This had been an honest effort. Last year's Taupo Half IM saw me enjoy a recovery ride the following day. I averaged 27kms per hour on a 30km ride. This year I hobbled down to the lake, stood waist deep for ten minutes, and then hobbled back to bed for a 30 minute kip. Yeah, I think it was an honest effort out there.

On the Sunday, after my 'post-hobble' dip in the lake, I asked Ruth to look down my throat. I had felt a slightly sore throat since the previous Wednesday, with an ear ache since the Friday. I suspect that the throat infection - which is what I now had - had been there since the day before the Half Ironman. Quote of the week goes to the Doctor who said, "So have you done anything that may have left you tired??". Yeah, could've done…

Looking ahead now. I have a new attitude and feel that the 505km Graperide Ultimate presents an opportunity to train for and compete in a pure endurance event. There exists a clear goal for the Graperide Ultimatethat event. It would be safe to say that I am more determined to reach those junctures in life that I long for, and as a result I am a better athlete than I previously was. I won't proclaim to being a better person.

The defining moment this season was possibly during a 'reverse brick session' about six weeks before Half Ironman. Waikanae pool was yet to open, so with the next closest pool opening at 10am an approach was used that saw my swim nearer the end of the workout. The format was bike, run, and swim. The reality ended up being bike, run, swim, run - with the run home from the pool being 2.5kms of gritted teeth, fatigued legs, and the singular thought of reaching home.

On this day the swim was almost done, and for some reason another swimmer decided to swim in the wrong direction in our lane. We bumped into each other and I pointed out that we were meant to swim in a clockwise direction. All very low key. I finished a short time later and was quickly sorting my gear in the changing rooms, when the other swimmer started to explain what had happened. "It's all good", I said. Adding, "Just swim clockwise and we can all get our swims done. It's not a biggie". He took exception to this for reason and pointed his finger at me saying, "Now you listen here!!". "No", I said calmly. My sole thought was that he was now delaying my final leg of the session. "I have been training since 5:30am this morning and it's now almost midday. You stand here debating parts of this day that mean nothing. Get out of my way or f*** off. You decide."

I walked out and started the run home. On the run I started to think about how much these events mean to me. But also I thought about how important the support of those around us is. Our dreams and goals exist to mark out who we want to be one day. Upon reaching those milestones we accept a new self image, and move beyond those boundaries that we once imposed on ourself.

Those same boundaries still exist for others however. Negativity is like a cancer and those goals we have evaporate quickly if we waste our time trying to convince others 'why' we pursue the path we have chosen. If they don't get it now they never will. So a battle it is then. Each day providing the opportunity to redefine who we are. Self belief is a cornerstone of happiness and without it we are living other people's lives.

Picture yourself on that day - after the swim. Standing in a room. One person arguing about things that do not matter. One focused on the journey ahead. Picture who you are. Who you want to be. On this journey there are only two sets of people - those who help me and those who do not. There is no margin for error...and no room for shades of grey.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thankyou to...

Hammer Nutrition - Still the best endurance food on the market. A perfect day of fuelling meant that all I had to contend with was the conditions. Perp rocks!!

On Yer Bike (Paraparaumu) - Ace work guys. Still giving the best service in Kapiti, and I look forward to popping into your store in the near future for more gear.

Lynley Brown - Thanks for keeping it real Lynley. You are a hard task master, and I was gob smacked for several days when you said to do that 3 x 300m swim TT again…because I was 4 seconds outside of the limit for one of the sets. However, I did it again the following week and hit all the numbers. You have shown me what a mind game this sport really is.

Family - Dad ("Granddad") is was great to have you at an event in Taupo, and I hope that Mum ("Granny") enjoyed being at a Taupo event being able to sleep at night!! (Normally overnight support crew for Taupo Challenge events). Alex, Amy, and David - Your time will come and I hope that the Ironman, in some form or another, finds you one day. There is no rush though, and for now it's all meant to be fun.

Ruth - Your ongoing support and encouragement is a blessing. Thank you. xx

Thankyou also to the people around me who were happy to make my days go smoother where they could. Brian Nelson (who's office became a bit of a dumping ground for my gear the evening before cycling in for brick sessions), Tim 'The Weather Man' Borlase (who's daily weather updates were ace leading up to the event - The winds were fully expected), and Lionel Thomas (with once and sometimes twice weekly 'drop offs' of my gear to home). Collectively you all made a big difference.

Finally - Thank you to the Ironman. You entered my life, finding me found already, but leaving me centered in this world of misaligned proities and shallow ambitions. You remain the goal, the process, and the benchmark of what is real and what is truly living. By being larger than life you sometimes seem like life itself. Life will continue with other goals, but even if it seems I am not living for you...I will be living through you.

Wellington Marathon

2010-12-18T18:17:00.002+13:00

Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.
Albert Einstein

I once had a dream that I was standing at the start line of an event, and it would transpire that this event would be the day of day's. The outing I would always remember for all of the right reasons. It did'nt escape me that in this dream the rain was so heavy that I would be sopping wet before the gun even went off. Maybe this is why I don't mind training on raining days.

Waiting in the starters area for the Wellington marathon things were so wet we actually left a full three minutes early. Apparently it was because they were concerned about runners getting too cold, but I suspect it was due to the officials wanting to get back indoors. With the rain so heavy that I could feel the water running down my back we setoff for the 42.2kms of the marathon. Just for the record, this was not to be my 'day of days'.

With the Ironman behind me the goal of the marathon was two fold. Firstly, focus on running. Secondly, better my IM marathon time of 4:57. I also wanted to work on my running base, with the second half of the year originally planned for more of the same. This too would change.

The marathon itself went like clockwork for the first 21kms. I asked myself at 18kms if it had'nt been a little foolish not to have gone faster up until that point. I felt so good with the running, and ignored any urges to stick with those who occassionally passed me. Ironically, with the wind at my back at the turn around point...it all went south. The first sign that all was not well was a slight cramp in my left calf. Later it would be my right. Both hamstrings would follow, and eventually my thighs (possibly feeling left out) also started to make a noise. Several people said that this is a part of running and it's a case of pushing through. Fair points - But not really relevant. The key aspet here is that I did'nt stop, and the cramping was so bad that I finished the race with a blister along the length of the sole of both feet. One would be filled with blood.

The low point though were those moments where people would say, "You can do it". Thanks. I knew I could do it, but expected to be showered and half way home by the time I was (as it turned out) ten kms from the finish. Not a good look. Most odd was the legs completely going about eight kms from the end. The legs were more tired than they had been at Ironman. Looking ahead then I had a few tears in my eyes as I slowly progressed towards the finish. Not due to pain or the race time, or anything else that is not really that important, but because I could see the next 18 months of training needing to be adjusted and, truth be known, reconsidered altogether.

The lasting memory is holding the finishers medal and wondering for several moments if I really wanted to keep it. I eventually decided it was worth keeping, and was profoundly pleased on this decision when removing my shoes. I wore sneakers to work all week.

I certainly found out who my friends were in the next few days. Two people quickly commented that my long terms plans were still on track, and quite possible. These sentiments were acknowledged and meant a great deal. Several others seized the opportunity to let me know what they thought of both my outlook on life and longer term goals. To be frank I was still struggling with walking until the Wednesday after the marathon.

Finally then, I recall the finish of the marathon. It would seem fitting that the event would finish at the home of the Wellington Phoenix. A club that had to reinvent itself not once, but twice to start gaining success. Thus, I too will take what I can from the event, and have set my sights on the two outings for later this year. Then, 2011 will bring about my decision on long term plans. It would be fair to say that this chapter was sent to test me.

50,000kms by Bike

2010-12-18T17:53:00.006+13:00

Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions.
Mark Twain.

13 is said to be an unlucky number. Not so however. According to some the number 13 is the number of fate. So it was then that I found myself sitting on 49,999.58kms after my Thursday commute home. The next planned ride was on Sunday 13 June, and there was no better way to surpass 50,000kms than a loop of the Aka's.

The weather decided (appropriately enough) that this would be a wet, windy, and unaccompanied trip around the 96km circuit. These factors seemed fitting, as the Aka's Double (and Triple) loops had all been done alone, with often the elements seemingly adding to the distance and gradient.

So it was that I surpassed 50,000kms of cycling before I even reached SH1. I completed the circuit and while doing so thought of the many training rides (and events) that had occured since my first ride on Saturday 31 January 2005. That first ride was in preperation for the innugeral Graperide event. A 101km ride into the unknown. Since then I had also completed random outings such as Te Anau to Milford Sound (in pouring rain), rides to Masterton, Wellington, all around Marlborough, and almost everywhere in the Kapiti region.

Additionally, other rides include...
- 59 Aka's loops (including 5 Double loops and 2 Triple loops).
- 11 laps of the Graperide circuit. (During the offical event - Most laps ridden by any rider!!).
- 7 laps of the Taupo Challenge circuit. (During the official event).
- A timed ride of 45:12 for the 30kms from work to home.
- 3 circuits of the 320km Wairarapa Loop.
- 471 trips commuting either to or from work by bike. (Kapiti to Porirua).
- 20 rides over 200kms.
- 46 rides over 150kms.
- 85 rides over 100kms.
- 257 rides over 50kms.

Of all of the rides there are three which stand out clearly above all others.

Firstly, on the ride that would take me past 10,000kms I would find myself setting off from Blenheim towards the Queen Charlotte Sound. I had an uneventful journey, with the exception of the ride being one magical moment. Reaching the highest point at the end of the Queen Charlotte Sound I stopped and looked back down towards the ocean. The day was perfect. No wind. No movement on the ocean. No one to comment about the moment...which inveriably ends the wonder. I stood there and said nothing, and not knowing what lay ahead for my cycling I silently got back on my bike and continued on towards Havelock.

Secondly, the 80km mark of the 2007 Taupo Enduro. I was 100% sure that I wouldn't finish. How could I?? Then, at around 4:30am I neared Kuratau, and it dawned on me that I could possibly do this. I was now a quarter of the way through the event and felt good. At that moment a small boy looked at me from the side of the road. His (I assume) father was loading port-a-loos, and his curious gaze was one of, "What the hell are you doing riding at this time of the day??". Up until that very moment I would have thought the same of anyone I saw out on a bike in the middle of the night...but no longer.

Lastly, after 620kms of cycling I neared the top of Hatepe on the Maxi Enduro. I had full intentions of getting to the top without stopping, so my one and only focus was the top of the hill. With many distractions up that final climb I passed relay (and Solo) riders, overcame tiring legs, and eventually made it to the false flat near the top. Then, in one clear moment it dawned on me that I could finally see the road off in the distance and highest point was indeed behind me. I hit the handlebars and said, "I bloody did it!!". And so I had.

A few days after the Maxi Enduro a work colleague asked me how I felt about finishing. "Pretty relieved", I said. "But how do you really feel about the event...and finishing it??", he responded. I looked him straight in the eyes and said, "I can die now". 'Relief' would be an understatement of proportions nearing the event itself.

I often found it interesting that those who criticised and undermined my goals were amongst the first to publically praise my efforts. All actions are noticed, and those who support you when times are difficult are those you remember as being worth knowing. The others are merely there to make up the numbers. Thank you to those who supported me when I didn't believe I couldn't make it, when I was a pain in the arse to be about, and when I put my commitment to finish ahead of them. You were truly there with me. Even in the loneliest hours.

Taupo Ironman

2010-03-27T16:23:00.013+13:00

From - "Stepping Up", by Stu Downs.

Chapter 21 – Taupo Ironman

The purpose of the swim is to get you on the bike. The purpose of the bike is to eat for the run. The purpose of the first run lap is to put money in the bank to pay the monkey that will jump on your back the second lap.

The Second Lap Monkey. He is very a big monkey. If this is your first Ironman, you have probably felt in your training everything that you will feel on race day, except the Second Lap Monkey. You can’t train for that. The Second Lap Monkey carries a big stick, and its name is Pain. Love it, hate it, get angry at it. Breathe it with every breath, feel it with every step and use it.

It lets you know you are still alive, more alive than most people will ever be in their whole lives. The clock keeps on ticking and everything bad must eventually come to an end. All you have to do is keep running in a straight line until someone tells you to stop.
(Anon)

Every journey's inception begins with a single, often innocent, thought. The road to the Ironman would be no different. And so it was, on a warm autumn afternoon in March 2009 I was in the midst of mowing the lawns and stopped - Remembering that the Ironman was taking place that day in Taupo. Rachael Button, (the owner of Hammer NZ), was taking part and until that very moment I had never even contemplated taking part in the event. Why would I?? I couldn't swim and had never done any kind of structured running.

Several weeks later I took part in the fifth annual Graperide event. I completed the 505km Graperide Ultimate and once again lost my eye sight during an overnight ride. However unlike previous events this time it was both eyes. This isn't a good look in a sport where high speed descents are the norm...especially when the stubborn sod on the bike isn't stopping unless they are dragged off the course. After the event I knew a new goal was needed, and thus I thought about 'what was next'. In short - A new life was needed.

A new life indeed. After two very poor swims of less than a dozen lengths each time, I decided that the Ironman would be a fair challenge. And it was. The introduction of triathlon saw a new circle of friends, with the tone set by triathlete Sorrel Fagan, who refused any cash after gifting some much needed elastic shoe laces after I managed the worlds slowest ever T2. "Just paying it forward", Sorrel said in a straightforward manner. Small humble acts are common in triathlon. A sport based on discipline, respect, and trust.

Three Step Game Plan: #1 - Be relaxed before the event. Check!!

"I had never even contemplated taking part in the Ironman event. Why would I?? I couldn't even swim."

By June I knew the program I had prepared for myself simply wasn’t working. So with aching ankles and no ability in the pool I contacted Lynley Brown. Lynley is a former age group Ironman World Champion, and professional for no less than five years. She is also an extremely good coach. Being new to triathlon (not to mention swimming and running), Lynley said a realistic goal was getting to the start line, and ensuring I didn't get a divorce at some point over the summer. Lynley also said that "the Ironman training starts after Christmas". I thought this a rather odd statement. After all, I had action packed weeks of training well before Christmas. Little did I know how right she was, as she always is with all things Ironman.

Boxing Day was a two hour run, and then it all began. Through to late February the real training happened, with up to 24 hours of training per week. Core work and stretching were extra. January alone included 50kms of swimming, 1250kms of cycling, and 250ms of running. In real terms this meant training six days a week, including six and a half hours on Thursdays, nine hours on Saturdays, and a three hour run each Sunday.

Then, almost out of nowhere the blur of training saw me arrive at Taupo. It was 6:30am and with my wetsuit fitted I was in the masses walking towards the lake alongside Ruth. Little was said, and the relaxed feelings of the previous few days was gone. In less than 30 minutes there would be over 1,250 athletes swimming towards the first corner buoy on the swim course. Do the math.

There comes a moment in every event where the talking stops and everyone finds their quiet place. Thus, I found myself in the water with the three minute warning having been sounded. There was much chatting all around me, shaking of hands, and wishing of luck. I simply rocked from side to side and looked down the course. I reminded myself that these days are precious and days like this, no matter how long they end up being, are to be cherished. I heard Ruth call out that she had spotted me, but it was too late for final waves and friendly chit chat. The one minute warning light was now flashing and as a final thought I told myself that this was the Ironman...and I was about to find out why it was named as such. The rehearsing was over. The starters cannon went off.

Note to self: If you listen to a track repeatedly before the start of an event, then be aware that it will replay most of the day. Fortunately I like it...

Shine On (James Blunt)
Are they calling for our last dance?
I see it in your eyes. In your eyes.
Same old moves for a new romance.
I could use the same old lies, but I'll sing,
Shine on, just, shine on!
Close your eyes and they'll all be gone.
They can scream and shout that they've been sold out,
But it paid for the cloud that we're dancing on.
So shine on. Just shine on!
With your smile just as bright as the sun.
'Cause they're all just slaves to the gods they made
But you and I just shone.
Just shone.
And when silence greets my last goodbye,
The words I need are in your eyes, and I'll sing.
Shine On, just, shine on!
Close your eyes and they'll all be gone.
They can scream and shout that they've been sold out,
But it paid for the cloud that we're dancing on.
So shine on. Just shine on!
With your smile just as bright as the sun.
'Cause they're all just slaves to the gods they made,
But you and I just shone.
Just shone.

Please please please...don't come near me in the moments before an event. Those quiet moments are precious.

"In less than 30 minutes there would be over 1,250 athletes swimming towards the first corner buoy on the swim course. Do the math."

The Swim (3.8kms)
Goal – Swim strong.
It seemed like about five seconds before anyone moved after the starter's cannon. It was almost like everyone was afraid to be the first one to go. Then the washing machine that is 1,250 swimmers began. I was just behind the packed area of the start line. This ensured a slow start and this combined with a 19.2 degrees water temperature meant that my breathing was excellent right from the start. My strategy was the same as previous events. Start nearer the shoreline and work towards the buoys, then stay on the inside of the course. Why swim further than I need to??

The smaller orange buoys (every 150meters) were actually more crowded with swimmers than the larger corner buoys. People only go wide on corners, fully expecting bedlam amongst swimmers, but the marshals were just as strict to keep us to the left of the smaller orange markers, leading to much congestion every now and then. This came to a head near the first major corner buoy. I dropped back when, from both sides, I was swum on top of by multiple swimmers. Not again. I decided that I would hold my ground the next time this took place, and my opportunity was upon me. The far end of the course had been reached.

As everyone funneled into the corner buoy I told myself, “Hold your nerve”. The worst thing you can do is stop, so I readied myself and speed up as I swam around the buoy. The next corner buoy followed 50 meters later, and then the swim homewards. Being in the masses I enjoyed drafting off others and paced myself for an efficient swim. This lead to the invertible kick in the face, followed by another about a minute a later, but nothing more than the next large corner buoy mattered to me. That would mean just 75 meters to the swim exit.

Just when I started to wonder if it would ever be reached the final corner buoy was suddenly upon me. The shoreline was packed, and I could hear the crowd while I was swimming towards the edge of the lake. I longed for that moment when I would see the large clock at the swim exit, and touching the sand I knew it was time to stand up. 1:31 was displayed in huge numbers. "I couldn't have been that slow", I thought, and put it all behind me. I started my run to T1.

The swim is 3.8kms, with the conditions similiar to a washing machine amongst the masses.

"I told myself that this was the Ironman...and I was about to find out why it was named as such."

My original 'perfect swim' time was 1:30 when I started my training, so I had to be happy. The distance from the lake to T1 is approximately 500 meters, with a run on artificial grass the whole way. The run to the bike is an opportunity to think about the upcoming transition, while ensuring you waste no time getting from the water to the bike. This it transpired would not be the game plan of some individuals ahead of me however, with several folk chatting (while walking) in some kind of impromptu reunion as they blocked off the entire walkway. I was obviously still in 'swim mode' I barged through the middle of the pairing. Looking back the following string of individuals were no less subtle in their efforts to save time on the way to T1.

The marshal at T1 holding 'my bag' had actually grabbed the wrong one, so running towards him I simply leaned down and picked my bag up from the ground. The transition was ace. In fact, upon collecting my bike I heard the announcer remind athletes that the swim time that was displayed at the lake front was the time since the professionals had departed...a full 15 minutes before the age group participants had departed. As I mounted my bike I felt a rarified lift. I had swum a 1:16 and my day had begun perfectly.

The Bike (180kms - 2 out and back laps of 90kms each)
Goal – Bike sensibly. (Be able to start run feeling ‘ok’).
Happy with the world I began my 180km odyssey that is the bike section. It is a peculiarity of cycling that often 'uneventful' is a good thing, and so it was that surrounded by screaming spectators, motor vehicles, and other cyclists I headed away from T1 and along the lake front. My first priority was, of all things, getting my heart rate down. So I enjoyed one of the few moments in the day whereby I was not thinking about having to push harder.

The climb out of Taupo is an honest one. Not of Hatepe Hill proportions, but honest enough on what is otherwise a relatively flat course. I found a good rhythm and readied myself for the two long descents that would soon follow. And then *snap*. The left elbow rest broke. Two screws hold it in place and it was hanging by one bent screw. I was 5kms into the race, and told myself, "This will not define my day". Two minutes later one of my rear bottle cages broke, and the mantra was repeated. This was no time to feel sorry about situations and my one focus was to close in on the bike finish as fast as I could, while keeping the legs fresh for the run.

Focusing on fueling and efforts that kept me in my heart rate zone I arrived at Reporoa for the first time. This saw 45kms completed. The pace was faster than my Taupo Half IM bike split, but with a heart rate effort that was considerably lower. The winds turned slightly on the return leg, with side winds now head winds. The bike section is non-drafting for 180kms, so it was honest efforts on the way back, and I'm sure most people simply thought about counting off the kms until Taupo.

Everything clicked on the swim, with the longer sessions paying off.

"I had swum a 1:16 and my day had begun perfectly."

For those who like the occasional bit of drafting, the much loved 'Draft Busters' are out and about looking an eye on everyone. Get caught drafting and you get a four minute stand down. Get caught again and you are disqualified. No appeals process. No recount. As you can imagine they get a pretty bad rap, but to be honest most triathletes detest the sight of drafting during these events, so the marshals simply save us the trouble of policing each other. I saw three cyclists being penalised in the first 45kms alone, but apparently there were only seven time penalties in the entire day, so the message must have gotten through early. No drafting for me though, although I occasionally looked around for them just in case. Possibly in the same way that you'd get nervous when approaching customs despite carrying nothing dodgy.

My primary focus however was current heart rate and most importantly cadence. Too slow with the cadence and the run would become a drunken stupor within minutes. At one point I told myself, "Only 120kms of the bike section to go". This somehow didn't help.

Coming back into Taupo at the end of Lap 1 my legs felt good. There are several long descents in the last ten kms, and I pushed the pace on each, passing a number of cyclists in the process. Town was bedlam. Marshals screaming at any traffic in the way, and spectators calling out to anyone and everyone. I heard my name called out several times, but had no time to ponder who it may have been. Then, one of the most surreal moments of the day. There would have been approximately 100 spectators seated on the side of the climb that leaves Taupo's main road, and as I approached the cheering got louder and louder. Puzzled, I looked back and saw a sole cyclist. He slowly reached me and I said, "Looks like you've got a few mates here". He looked as surprised as me when he replied, "I thought they were cheering for you".

Lap 2 had several main focuses. Firstly, managing the cramping that had now started. Very odd, as I never cramped all season during training!! Secondly though I kept reminding myself that the race doesn't start until 2:30pm. A distraction however was the elbow rest. It was seriously munted, and hung on by one bent screw I checked it every 10 to 15 minutes, but to be honest I'm not sure if I would have stopped to pick it up if it had fallen off. Truth be known, probably not. Not for the Ironman.

Finally the turn around at Reporoa and the last 45kms on the bike. It was headwinds and occasional light rain. The winds made staying in my heart rate zone pretty straightforward, but the pace was slow. Then the beautiful sight of the climbs back to Taupo. It is a rare feeling to have a hill signal the end of torment, but the two climbs are approximately ten kms before Taupo. Thus, they are the light at the end of the tunnel. I had been passing a few cyclists for about the last hour, and things boded well for the start of the run. I was finally back in town.

There was relief that I had reached the end of the ride, and also that the elbow rest had stayed on. But at the same time I knew I had sacrificed the bike for the run. 6:29 is not very fast for 180kms on a mainly flat course, but going faster would have cost me more time for the event. This was tested and found to be true during training - I guess it's something about 180kms on the bike tiring the legs out for a marathon(!!). With marshals screaming at me to dismount the bike before the red line, and I was off the bike running with about five feet to spare. The bike was handed off, and I collected my run gear and ran towards T2. "Stu - You're doing well", yelled out the volunteer who had been holding my transition bag. It seemed odd that he called out my name, but it would be called out almost non-stop for the next five hours.

The bike leg is 180kms. (Drafting is not permitted).

"Then *snap*. The left elbow rest broke. I told myself, "This will not define my day"."

The Run (42kms - 2 out and back laps of 21kms each)
Goal – Run myself into the ground.
Until about the 160km mark of the bike section I would have been happy to swap the run for another two laps on the bike, but letting go of the saddle as I ran towards the tent was an uplifting moment. As with T1, my transition bag was emptied onto the ground and I simply swapped over required gear. With all of my gear fitted I stood up, looked around, and thought “Bugger. That was quick!!”. The race was indeed upon me, and I enjoyed my last few moments of relative comfort, as I walked out of the tent and was sprayed with sun tan lotion. I looked towards the footbridge that crossed the main road and knew that once crossed the day would be experienced at a new level.

The term “Brick” has been introduced to my vocabulary this season. To be clear, the bike to run is not to be underestimated. On a good day the first five minutes are uncomfortable, with it being the entire run on a bad day. Replace “uncomfortable” with “unbearable” if you get the slightest bit greedy on the bike. With mirrored glasses on, and staring into the ground five feet ahead of me at all times, I began the process of chipping away at one to two km chunks of the run at a time. Never any more and always looking for ways of breaking the run into manageable chunks. The Ironman has been said to be about survival, and on the run you start to understand why this is said. Everything becomes a habit on the run...for better or for worse.

To give you an idea of where the pros are at, as I headed north for my first few kms I could hear comments about Cameron Brown closing in on the finish. Then, as I passed the finishing straight, (and knowing I still had 40kms to go), I heard “700 meters to go for Cameron Brown”. Thank God I didn't get in his way!!

Heading south for the first time I passed Ruth and the kids, and gave them what I thought at the time was a smile, friendly wave, and thumbs up. Looking back I suspect I was fairly zoned out, as I was informed that my ‘game face’ was on. Rolling climbs then followed, "small steps" being the mantra the whole way up. A week or so earlier I had asked Lynley if walking each climb right from the start was a good approach. Lynley simply replied that "running hills is good for the soul". And so it is. Passing other runners I felt a rare lift in my spirit that would see me average 10.6kms per hour for the outward leg of Lap 1. Good times.

Starting Lap 2 on the bike.

On the bike I kept reminding myself that the race doesn't start until 2:30pm.

The opening stages of Lap 1 gave me the opportunity to assess my fueling situation. Things had gone pretty well to date, and the run would see me fuel with Hammer Perp (same as the bike), with the run using fuel belt bottles. I only walked through one drinks station on Lap 1 and this was to sort my fuel belt drinks out. Reaching the 10km mark I felt good and knew that fluids and fuel would be key to keeping on top of things. Heading north once again I now had a tailwind. I also had Airport Hill to contend with. I must admit, the hill was a slow climb, but oddly it seemed (in some ways) easier than the small beast that hurt the legs and lungs always seemed to experience on the Taupo Challenge. On those occasions it was at times pure torment.

As you reach certain points of the event you receive a specific coloured arm band. On the bike it was yellow (at 95kms), and then green (at 135kms). White then followed two kms into the run. Reaching the 15 km mark it was beginning to dawn on me the true value of that forth and final band. Few things in the world meant as much as that band for those six kms. The blue arm band was the ticket to the finish line, and without it you also had an additional 21kms of running added to your days work. But most of all, you would no longer look at those with the blue arm bands with the knowledge that they were a lap up on you. You would be a "Lap 2" runner. At the time this signaled the beginning of the end...which would normally be a bad thing, but understand the circumstances was not a bad thing. This feeling grew as each km sign was passed, with me feeling very relieved as I approached the end of Lap 1. Running towards the crew I missed the first marshal and slowed right down for the next. “I’m not leaving without one of those things!!”. With my tongue out of my mouth with relief I was told off my a marshal, “Put your tongue in your mouth...you have serious racing to do!!”, they said in a stern voice (while smiling). Everyone laughed and I set off feeling good about the task ahead.

It was carnage around the back of the Taupo Events Centre. This area was for athletes only, and with no spectators everyone else was walking. I had decided that apart from drinks stations I wouldn't walk once, so I had been enjoying passing a number of people. I stopped at the drinks station to top up all of my fuel belt drinks. Things were looking good and I wondered if a 4:30 marathon was possibly on the cards. My sole stupid move of the day took place at this point. After 2:16 of running I switched from long chain carbs (Hammer Perp) to short chain carbs (Coke). This is fine when there is just an hour left, but (as it would turn out) I would have just over two and a half hours of running left. Not a good combo. Not thought about in advance. Not clever.

The start of Lap 2 was an opportunity to take in the sight of the winds effects on the waterfront's trees. It seemed that by now I was starting to take everything in, and to be honest kms 22 through to 32 were probably the only ones I really have any real memory of. Before then I had blocked everything out and after 32 kms I was too tired to look anywhere but that spot on the ground five feet ahead of me. It was a strong southerly, but oddly the outward headwind leg seemed easier than the return leg.

Three Step Game Plan: #2 - Start the run feeling 'ok'. Check!!

Everything becomes a habit on the run...for better or for worse.

By now I was breaking the run into smaller chunks, and the distance was seldom anymore than 500 meter segments. Reaching Five Mile Bay (26km mark) and I started to feel a little more tired. Spirits were temporally lifted as Paul Rawlinson came running into sight towards me. He was flying, and ran towards me for a high five. Just as well he ran over to me, as I wasn't running any further than 42kms on this day!! Finishing well ahead of me Paul backed up his Taupo efforts, where he would have finished 2nd if he had been just 30 seconds faster. Not bad for an event with 5,300 entrants...and done by someone training for three disciplines rather than just cycling.

The long climb to the top of Airport Hill was a grind. I never doubted my ability to finish, but oddly I also never felt that I broke the back of the run. Sometimes you get over the hump and things seem to fall into place, but after 26kms it simply got harder as it progressed. The last turning point (32kms) saw the run starting to get pretty grim for everyone. I started to notice discarded fuel belts and random pieces of clothing that otherwise would be cherished. Not on this day though, with the weight and chaffing outweighing the cost of replacing those now valueless garments.

Mental games were gone for now and I had one chunk of the run left. Ten kms, then nine, and so on, as I passed each sign. I thought at one point, with a wry smile on my face, that this was the bit where I got to run myself into the ground. And it was. I accepted that I had sacrificed the bike leg for the run, and apart from occasionally chats to those I passed I thought about little else than the next drinks station.

At Five Mile Bay my plan of telling everyone to say "Run don't walk" (if I was spotted walk between drink stations) came back to bite me in the butt. Walking through the drinks station I slowly made my way to the rubbish bin. It must have been obvious what I was thinking and the voice of Jacky James said, "...er...you are doing really well, but you did say if you were walking..." - "I'm still officially in the drinks station area", I snapped back. I never did thank her for that moment, but it made a difference. Next year Jacky will be an Ironman.

From File Mile Bay until the lake front I thought about what had gotten me to this day. The 5:15am starts for my swims, lonely six hour rides on my TT bike, and the afternoon runs that had tested me during runs and had left me eternally grateful afterwards that the following day was a rest day. I also thought about the start of the journey to this day, with two poor swims providing enough motivation for me to know that this would be a true challenge. That was just eight months earlier. The fatigue caught up with me and I started to feel decidedly tired. The journey it seemed was coming to an end, and like any true effort the fun had stopped too long ago for me to care.

The Marathon is 42kms. Easy...if you say it really quickly.

It was carnage around the back of the Taupo Events Centre…everyone else was walking.

With no more drink stations I was now running until the end of the day. Or so it seemed. Then I saw the beautiful sight – I had forgotten there was one last drinks station left. “Thank God!! I can walk through it”, I said to myself. I walked while getting drinks and reach the far end started running again. By now it took several minutes to get the legs working again and to be honest it is a little concerning that a drinks station I had run through three times that afternoon could be forgotten. I estimate that I was passed by 15 people along the lake front, but I was totally rooted by now and any surplus energy was long gone. 'Autopilot' would be a fair assessment. No walking though.

I turned away from the lake and followed the same finishing straight as the Taupo Challenge. Ruth and the children were all going crazy, and now only 500 meters from the finish I handed Ruth my sunglasses and cap. “That’s not allowed”, said JB (Lynley’s husband), “I’ll inform the officials!!”. I smiled and enjoyed the run towards the finish. "Almost there" I thought, and indeed the journey of the Ironman was almost complete. I ran towards the finish with a smile on my face for the first time since realising my swim time was 1:16.

During the run I had thought that I might stop with 50 meters to go and punch the air with both fists, or maybe yell out “YES!!!!” as I started the last few hundred feet. But to be honest, my plan of running myself into the ground had been carried out to the letter. I won’t pretend I had a relatively fast run, and I had gone from feeling in control of things to exhaustion in the last 15kms. But all I thought about near the end was running, and so I did. It is true what they say, the last few moments don't hurt at all. Once on the Ironman carpet it's all good. I closed my eyes as I crossed the line, and realised how tired I really was. It was like a wave of fatigue came over me when I stopped and two officials helped me into the tent.

"Cabbaged" would sum up my mental state, and physically it was only marginally better. I was weighed and had lost 2.1kg during the event. Apparently this was no cause for alarm. A massage followed, and then I wandered outside and frankly felt a little lost. Cold, tired, and feeling sick I wondered what I would do with myself. This ended up being easy to answer, as first up was throwing up twice. Once back at Hatepe I was now only tired and everything seemed ok.

The good, the bad, and the ugly. Do not be mistaken - It's all about the run.

"I thought at one point, with a wry smile on my face, that this was the bit where I got to run myself into the ground. And it was."

Life is different now. If I am honest I'd have to say that everything is easier. Or is it that I care less about everything else than I did the Ironman. Early morning 10km runs and weekend group rides will replace the extended brick sessions I had become to see as normal. Life changes and the natural transitions between bigger goals and day to day need to be embraced, otherwise we end up looking back through our memories, rather than towards the richness that is only found in life's smaller moments.

I am an Ironman. Truth be known we all are - If we believe it. Self doubt is the cancer of our souls. Always looking forwards – knowing that we will succeed – is not simply ‘an option’, it is the difference between existing and living life. As I turned off the course and headed down the final stretch of the run I had one last glance towards the road I had just run off. I was less than 50 meters from the start line of where the 2007 Taupo Enduro had begun. It seemed fitting that in many ways my journal had come full circle.

Completing the 2007 (320km) two lap Taupo Enduro, 2008 (640km) four lap Taupo Maxi Enduro, 2009 (505km) five lap Graperide Ultimate, and now New Zealand Ironman event I feel I have lived through moments in the three years that most people will never experience...let alone understand. It has been a unique life and to say I feel lucky would be a understatement of proportions comparable to some of the adventures themselves. Sporting endeavors will not define me however. No. It is who I am as a husband, father, son, brother, and friend that will be recalled when my journey is truly over. This, in many ways, is the true prize of completing events such as these. Knowing how important those everyday moments are. Those moments you have swum, cycled, and ran past through the months of training, and experienced anew when life becomes ordinary once again.

No matter what I do with the remainder of my life I will always look back fondly on the journey towards (and at) the Ironman. It is simply something you only really understand if you have been through it. Some may say that it is as profound as the day is long. And speaking as someone who setoff as the sun was rising and crossed the finishing line as it set...I can honestly say it was a long day.

So it is time to be pleased. Yet – The occasional back slapping and comments of "well done" have left me looking ahead for the silent individual. The one who says nothing, and instead looks back from time to time, as if to say "There is even more than this". Yes. Much more…

Three Step Game Plan: #3 - Run myself into the ground. Check!!

It is true what they say, the last few moments don't hurt at all.

*** The End ***

Training for and completing events are never a solo effort, and thus many thanks need to go to individuals out there who helped this all happen. I acknowledge that this is not everyone, and if you have been omitted, then please know that I have appreciated every small gesture along the way.

Thanks to…

On Yer bike
Best bike shop in the Wellington / Kapiti Coast region. Thank you for being there when my bike wasn’t 100% right. Fast, efficient, and friendly service. Special thanks to Matt, Simon, and Nigel, who have raised the bar in terms of customer service.

Hammer Nutrition
Best endurance foods on the market, ace customer service, and (as it turns out) a circle of friends with very loud cheering!! Peace of mind is what people want heading into events, and my nutritional needs have had that since I switched to Hammer in 2008. Rachael Button adds the personal touch to everything, and how many people can say that they have shared events with those who sell them supplement and fuels. (She even cycled with me for 30 minutes during the Maxi Enduro).

Photos
Big thanks to all of those who took fantastic photos on the day and then emailed them through to me. Specifically – Ruth, Lynley, Jacky, and Rachael. Great stuff.

Our Mum’s
Thanks to Ruth’s Mum Kathleen for the endless child minding and friendly manner when short notice training sessions were announced. On the day, my Mum also provided a stream of updates on my progress (from the internet), and this meant Ruth knew how far away I was at all times.

Paul Rawlinson
Thanks for sharing the journey buddy. I stand by my comment that you could be on your way to Kona in three years if you focused on the Ironman journey each year. But we both need new challenges and thus I know that we will seek out those places that beckon us. Best of luck with the 2010 Taupo Enduro, and your future plans.

Jacky James
From someone who’s Twitter update I occasionally read…to friend. A season of triathlon goes by so quickly, but those you meet along the way remain. I sincerely wish you every success for your Ironman training Jacky. May your Ironman experience in 2011 be everything you wish for. It is not easy, so please remember, “You need only endure to overcome”.

Lynley Brown
Some people get it done, and Lynley has shown me that sometimes you are best off trusting someone who has succeeded at the highest level. I look back and wonder how I would have made it without the training program you put together. I will always remember your advice when I mentioned how tired I was after a particularly hard week. “Sometimes you just need to get out the gate”, was Zen like reply. Profound in its simplicity. And true. I await your update re 2012, and am sure that with your assistance I will succeed at my long term goal.

Ruth
Another event completed and once again we can enjoy day to day life, before the next goal gets closer. Looking back I recall fondly the journey we have shared together for the last 13 years. I feel privileged to have brought into the world three beautiful children with you, but equally special has been growing up with you. We were in our mid-twenties when we meant, and knew a lot less than we do now. My wish is that we grow old disgracefully, not accepting our age as a boundary – ever - as we seek out new journeys together, finally finding ourselves visited by our grandchildren. I will bore them with stories of my adventures of “when I was young”.

The Commute (By Foot)

2010-02-26T08:09:00.002+13:00

Opportunities multiply as they are seized.
Sun Tzu

Running, in many ways, has been overshadowed by swimming this season. With both disciplines new to me as of this season I have often looked back fondly at the progress made with swimming, while taking for granted the gradually growing distances of my running. However, on the horizon throughout late 2009 was the knowledge that my runs would reach the three hour mark. Thus, with my training in full swing I saw the opportunity to run to work. At 31kms the trip would be one to remember, and thus running would finally have it day in the sun.

Like most runners, the first ten minutes of a run is an opportunity to relive those moments when fitness didn't exist. The heart starts pumping faster and the blood circulates around the body a little more quickly. And then there's the breathing. Ah yes, the lungs burning and the snot and spit flying around while your are wondering if this outing was a clever move - or not. It seemed on this run that the latter was possibly the case, with my run starting at around 7am on a Sunday morning, and the run from my house in Kapiti to Porirua seeming a long way after just a few kms. I had the wind at my back though, so all seemed to bode well.

Past Paekakariki and starting along Centenial Highway

Reaching Paekakariki in good time I knew that with ten kms behind me the real test was about to start. The long stretch of road between Paekakariki and Pukerua Bay is the 'Centennial Highway' and this section of roading would be key to this run. Losing focus (and thus motivation) before the climb over Pukerua Bay would be a huge mistake, and thus I made a point of keeping an eye on the time, maintaining good form, and noting motorists who were missing out on a special run along a beautiful New Zealand coastline.

Reaching the base of the Pukerua Bay hill I started a modestly paced plod up the climb, knowing the long descent down the other side would be an absolute pleasure. And it was. The remainder of that climb was fairly honest though, and I'd love to see a race that incorporated that climb, with the second ascent deceptively steep and no doubt many pretenders would be found out as they blew up within sight of the top. A steady pace was allowed on this run however, so no heroics were needed.

The top allowed for a quick swapping around of bottles on my fuel belt and the start of a long descent that I am sure had me running four minute kms at times. As I rapidly closed in on Porirua I focused solely on my form, and for those special moments I felt like I was the only person on the planet staying still...with the rest of our globe turning under my feet. I suppose this is the feeling runners aspire to return to.

Centenial Highway

Reaching the Plimmerton Weigh station I was back on the flat, but had broken the back of this run, with just Mana to get through before reaching my destination. Seldom easy, this run continued as it had progressed, with a constant focus on reaching my goal, and the steps counting off my progress. As I was running through Mana I was passed by the van driven by Ruth. Alex, Amy, and David waving from inside. Shortly thereafter I threw my fuel belt to Ruth as I passed the now parked van. "See you in ten minutes", I said, and crossed the bridge that joins Mana to Porirua. And ten minutes it was, with my thoughts going back to last June and July when I recalled the two kms from the Shell service station to my place of work being the second half of what was seen as a moderately long run.

Those memories seemed to be from another lifetime as the road disappeared behind me. In front of me the van sat, waiting, with my children playing happily in the adjoining playground, and my wife patiently wanting - hoping once again for my safe arrival. "Come and see where we've been playing", said Alex, as reached the run's finish. Alex took my hand and led me to the playground. His ignorance of my fatigue was as refreshing as it was puzzling. He just wanted to live in the moment, and in many ways this was my lasting memory (and lesson) of the run.

On the way home in the van I didn't point out sections of the road that had captured highlights and low-lights. This is normally a debrief of sorts, but seemed pointless on this occasion, as those moments had existed on this day and many others in what was becoming a blur of training and recovering and sleeping and eating...and at some point becoming so accustomed to the Ironman way of life that I often wondered if this wasn't more of a rehearsal for the Ironman than training for the Ironman. The subtle distinction seemed somewhat profound at times.

Most of all though, I didn't say anything about the run's moment's on the way home because I was thinking about what was next. The day before this run my swim had started at 6am and the work-out finished at 2:50pm, with nine hours becoming almost normal throughout January and to mid-February. These long Saturdays followed six and half hour Thursday's, with 'Brick Session' being learnt and lived twice a week. The following week would be the same, but with even less fanfare. I was dropped off at work and would run 32kms home, also running through the sand dunes that occupy Kapiti's QE Park.

Almost finished. Ten minutes from work...

That's it. The run that had captured my imagination so early in the season later became just one more session on my way to the Ironman. In many ways though, the run also symbolised my season, with the self belief and determination to reach the finish outweighing everything else. I look back now - with the Ironman now eight days away - and wonder where this journey has taken me. Speaking as someone who did multiple overnight training rides for the Maxi Enduro I can honestly say that the Ironman training has been the hardest thing I have ever done. I pity those who decided it was too hard though, because I am almost on the shoreline saying, "I made it to the Ironman". To be here now, I can say it is worth every 5:15am start for a swim session. Worth every post-workout ice bath. Even worth being ill and pushing too hard for a long swim and even harder for a 15km run...only to collaspe later that evening at my Wife's Christmas work function. Worth it all.

Lastly then - if a last word is fitting - I have become acutely aware that I will not be remembered for outings such as next weeks Ironman. No. It is who I am as a person that will be recalled. Thus, it is hoped that those who have encountered me this season will have had their own journeys enriched by having shared mine.

'Taupo Epic' Swim

2010-02-01T21:49:00.004+13:00

"It's not enough that we do our best; sometimes we have to do what's required."
Winston Churchill

Travelling north for the Taupo 'Epic Swim' event it was 10:30am when I first had the opportunity to assess Lake Taupo. Travelling up on the day of an event is something I don't normally do, but with the race starting at 1:30pm this seemed like a good option. The south end of the lake was like a millpond. Feeling happy with the world and by the minute growing in confidence that i'd make the two hour cut-off for the five kilometre swim, I continued driving north...noting the water's surface looking a tad less flat as we progressed north.

My first thought as we arrived for registration at the northern end of the lake was, "It's probably been postponed". It hadn't. I could see swimmers competing in the New Zealand 10km Championships, with swimmers only visible 50% of the time due to the waves they were amongst. Registration followed, as did my seemingly good (at the time) decision to drop off all of my gear at our accommodation in the 50 minutes before the race was due to start. I found myself standing on the beach a while later, with 15 minutes until the race briefing, a wetsuit in my hand, and much trepidation about the task at hand. It was not lost on me that our cabin was number 13, and the gate to get out of the camp ground wouldn't open when we tried to get to the swim.

The warm-up was perfect, with rough waves being easily parted as I swam effortlessly back and forth for around five minutes. I felt great as I exited the water and placed some squeezies in the sleeves of my arms and legs. With two hours in the water it would be a tad foolish to go without some kind of energy replacement. The briefing was about five minutes of rough water advice, comments about remaining calm, and a plead to not fight the waves. This was then followed by a 20 second snippet adding the direction we would swim in and where the starting area was. The conditions would be well summed up by the race announcer pointing out that a finisher of the 10km race was coming in, but then realising that it was in fact a duck in the water. His final comment was, "You have three minutes to get to the start". As a group we headed out together and all of a sudden I didn't feel so flash.

I still don't recall what started the race, but everyone left at once, with my breathing very poor right from the start. I also struggled to deal with the larger waves, and at about the 200 meter mark thought about putting my hand up and signalling that it was game over for me. I continued on though, with breast stroke needing to be used for about a quarter of the swimming. It was slow going to say the least. The other issue was my wetsuit clinging to my chest, which left me feeling like I could'nt breath in. It would be fair to say that this was a low point.

Map of the course

At this point I made two decisions. Firstly, I grabbed the front of my wetsuit and let some water in. This freed up my breathing slightly. Second though, I made the decision that I probably wouldn't make the two hour cut-off, so if I was advised that I was out of the event I would simply hand over my transponder, my race cap, and would tell them i'm finishing the distance regardless. This decision got me out of a negative mind set, and inside saw me accept that I had control over certain aspects of the race, with better efforts producing a faster time. I was probably about 500 meters into the race, so plenty of time to put things right.

At about this stage the base of the lake, (which seemed almost within arms reach for much of the swim), was covered in more and more golf balls. I probably saw 1000 to 1500. There is a golf 'hole in one' competition on the lake, but here's the thing - We were swimming a hundred meters beyond the target!! Reaching the first corner buoy - Thus completing a quarter of the event - I decided it was time for some energy intake. Two unexpected things then happened. Firstly, I realised that I couldn't swim and retrieve a squeezy, so i'd sink while retrieving the gel, and would then swallow what I could before quickly going again. Secondly, the life guards, (who were looking for drowning swimmers), would start heading towards me at a great speed each time I repeated this process, which left me with a life guard watching me closely for the next five minutes.

Nearing the end of Lap 1 I asked a life guard if they had the time. This was to prove to be a pivotal moment in the event for me. "It is 2:31pm", came the reply. I was 250 to 300 metres from the start of Lap 2, and had already take 61 minutes. I wondered how long the event would really take, and . At this point I was passed by one of the 10km swimmers. He was flying, and attempting to slipstream behind him had little benefit for me. I watched him head towards the finish as I turned right to start Lap 2 it became apparently that the lake had calmed considerably.

At the finish and happy with the world...once I knew I had made the 2 hour cutoff

Within a hundred metres of starting Lap 2 the thought about making the two hour cut-off started to repeat itself. Finishing the event had been decided on one lap earlier, but the time had arrived to decide on what this day would represent. I had one key question. "How much do I want to crack two hours??". I decided that even if it screwed up the remainder of the weekends training I would go for it. With the corner buoy well off in the distance, but visible, I made a point of every single stroke being full and honest. No going through the motions or 'trying'. I would do this or would end up being pulled from the water.

Nearing the corner buoy that would mark the three quarter mark I passed a swimmer I had been tracking. Having someone a minute or so ahead was a great motivator, and I knew they would in turn attempt to lock in on me. So killing two birds with one stone I floored it as I passed them, and they tucked in behind me for a short while until they suddenly fell back. My next target swimmer was about two minutes ahead of me, and I told myself that they would complete the swim in exactly two hours. Finish ahead of them and i'd make it.

Time for my third and final squeezy as the finishing line - Now just 1,200 meters away - came into sight. Reaching for the much needed fuel I accepted (after several attempts) that I wasn't having it. The gel had worked it's way up my leg and was now out of reach. With boats coming towards me, (for what probably appeared to be a drowning swimmer), I knew that this was it. Seldom looking up I knew that I had to really push hard to have any chance. Half way towards the final buoys I was starting to wane. "I've had tough conditions and will finish, so it was a good attempt", I thought. Then I stopped swimming and looked ahead. "No - I'm still in the water and this event is still happening - There will be no eulogy just yet!!". I then pushed on at the same pace as the last 1,500 meters had seen, and it was at about this point I thought about a different family member as I passed each of the smaller orange buoys. The fuel tank was getting low.

Getting to about 300 meters of the final buoys I was poked. The big aimed was attempting to keep good form now, as thrashing about in the water wouldn't assist me to the finish. My goal now was simply to get to the buoy. Then 50 meters to the next one, and another 50 meters to the finish. It would be fair to say that I had an empty tank for those final moments, with my one thought to keep a straight line for the finish so I wouldn't have to swim one foot further than necessary. Getting to the finish I put my wrist, (with the transponder), over the timing mat repeatedly to ensure that my time was recorded. I then turned around to Ruth and asked the time. It was 3:29pm. I fell to the ground and punched the air with relief. The second lap had taken approximately 53 minutes and I was completely stuffed, but at the same time elated.

To put this swim into perspective, the person who I had been tracking for the last 2,000 meters crossed the finish line and simply stood on the beach looking into space. Ruth pointed them out to me while I was still shaking hands with anyone who approached me, (I think it was obvious to all that I was happy with the event). The swimmer then walked towards the lake and threw up just before getting to the water. Apparently this was not an isolated incident. Many experienced swimmers had a tough day at the office, with Hana Wolzak (who has successfully completed the Cook Straight swim), finishing just ten minutes before me.

Buggered

Those getting out after me looked tired and fairly despondent about the swim. I however checked my time with the organisers and it was confirmed that the two hour cut-off had been made. With no watch on I had no idea what the time was during the swim, so it was a relief to hear that the time was 1:58:43. A two hour run was to follow this event, and as I set off to run the Ironman run course I looked down towards the lake which now looked so calm and peaceful. My legs were sore when the run was completed, but I was still buzzing...and wondered how many I lined up against had been swimming for just six months.

Taupo Half Ironman

2009-12-28T20:38:00.003+13:00

From - "Stepping Up", by Stu Downs.

Chapter 20 – "Taupo Half Ironman"

"We all agree that your theory is crazy, but is it crazy enough?"
Niels Bohr (1885-1962)

The Taupo Half Ironman was a refreshing experience. To know that once again the day ahead of me would be remembered for the rest of my life brought back memories of darkened Taupo evenings on the bike, and reminded me that being a part of the larger experience is the most important aspect to 'get right' on the day. This was just as well because on this milestone towards the Ironman I experienced the narrow path once again.

Any positive thoughts were almost overshadowed before the event even arrived however. My sister-in-law announced that her wedding would happen on the same day as the Half IM. I also made an announcement about where I would be...and shortly thereafter so did my Wife. Solo trips to Taupo, and sleeping on the couch, were averted however with the wedding pushed out 24 hours to accommodate plans for the reception. I mentioned to several people that I dodged a bullet and one commented that I actually dodged an entire magazine from a semiautomatic. Things worked out, as they tend to on journeys.

The Taupo Half Ironman starts at the northern end of the lake, at the Taupo Yacht Club, with 324 men participating in the event (as individuals), and including females (and teams) there were over 850 competitors. The course follows the exact circuit as the Taupo Ironman event, with all disciplines simply half the distance, so a two km swim, 90km bike, and then 21km run. The ideal build-up for the Ironman.

The morning of the event was a blur of getting my gear ready, putting on my wetsuit on, adjusting the goggles, and feeling the water for the first time in the day. There was time for a chat with random people though, and as always there was at least one character to make the day more interesting. A guy two bike slots from mine setting up his gear as I put on my wetsuit. His bike was exactly like my road bike, and we exchanged thoughts about the merits of the mighty Avanti Corsa. We would cross paths throughout the day.

‘Cold' is a relative term, but it would be fair to say that the water was not warm. As the cool water found its way through the wetsuits zipper I submerged my face and tried to get used to the water. I also noted that the lakes bottom was not just sand and rocks. There seemed in fact to be almost a festival of items beneath us all, with tyres, railroad tracks, and random pieces of manmade debris. I don't know why, but I found this slightly unnerving.

The lasting memory of those final moments was the realisation that the buoys would never be seen in a row, as the start was a deep water start. From the foreshore you see the buoys parallel to the waterfront, but in the water you never really get a feel for the line of markers. Along with this, the start was a slow wait, with "five minutes" called, then a countdown in 30 second intervals. There was a collective tension that exploded when the hooter went off.

The transition area – Organised chaos once the athletes arrived.

My breathing was rubbish for the first ten minutes of the swim, with much coughing under the water and spitting of mucus etc. This was the least of my problems though, as the start saw the entire group head in a 45 degree angle at the start. So often I couldn't even see the first buoy and played followed the leader, with people bumping into me from all directions. It seemed like there was only calmness beneath me in the water though, so that is where I focused, as I recalled the words, "Keep the water below you", and started my count "1, 2, 3", for the strokes. The swim, and day, had begun.

Midway through the swim someone swam over the top of me, with the first I knew of this being my arm colliding with them. Before any apologies could be made we were swimming in differing direction once again, and before long I had the water to myself again. This happened several weeks earlier at the Scorching Bay tri, when some clown tried to climb over me by pulling down on my shoulders at a buoy. I didn’t let either incident phase me though. In a sport where your face is submerged in water most of the time, it is best to simply focus on those things that will get you to the finish...like breathing!!

Exiting the water I heard "good swim!!" from Lynely. It seemed a little odd that 80% of the bikes were still racked, and apparently my swim was completed in 41 minutes, with the transition taking 3 minutes. Up until the previous weekend I had estimated a minimum of 60 minutes for the 2km swim. I felt good and within 200 meters on the bike I felt relatively fresh.

The road to Reporoa is perfect. 2009 had already seen two training rides along this stretch of road, and I now know the course well. With drizzle and a side wind my focus was finding a rhythm, staying in my prescribed heart rate zone, and if possible staying above 30kms per hour. I estimate that between Taupo and Reporoa I passed 50 to 60 cyclists. Pacing was key, with it critical not to push too hard. Thus occasional chats were started up, with my buddy from the start in good form, exchanging thoughts about the race (and life in general). I left him beaming when we turned at Reporoa, and seeing the long line of cyclists yet to reach the turnaround I announced, "well we know we're not last".

You know Taupo is getting close when the road heads skywards, so after two hills, and then a fast descent, the township of Taupo is finally reached. As I turned onto the lake front I was passed by a cyclist who meant business. He took off at speed and was 50 metres ahead by the transition area. I passed him before I raked my bike however as he was now hobbling. I commented, "The fun is still ahead of us". The bike section (including transition) took 2:59, so a tad over 30kms an hour for 90kms while pacing myself. I ran out of the transition area, past two walking competitors, and also past my family. Ruth called out hello and I gave her a cheeky smack on the bum. If she didn't like it she'd have to catch me!!

The honeymoon was over within two kms. My target heart rate zone for the run couldn't be reached without a cramp starting up on my hamstring and inner thigh. It was slow going thereafter, with a 58 minute pace for the first 10.5kms. Near the end of lap one I was even passed by a guy in a pink tutu. He was a full lap ahead of me, and probably in the top ten finishers...but you'd have to be to get away with an outfit like that.

The run was a test of my resolve to finish.

My previous longest run was 14.5kms, so by 15kms I was feeling the pinch. I took heart in passing a number of walkers. My focus turned to not walking unless I was walking through the drinks stations, which became a focus point for the second half of the run. I also looked at the wrists of those approaching me, with a blue wristband indicating that they were on lap two, and the absence of said band meaning they were well behind me. The finish was getting closer.

In the last 5kms that I began to think about next March. The reasons for finishing Ironman need to be considered before the event arrives, as the legs started to say "no" in the last 5kms. In fact, if the last 5kms were swimming I would have initially enjoyed the break for the sake of my lower limbs. I still recall how I felt in those moments, with fatigue setting in, my legs seizing up, and my mind starting to consider the sanity of running 21kms after a 90km bike, and a 2km swim. For a little while it all seemed slightly mad.

A second wind arrived two kms before the finish, with Lynley appearing out of nowhere. Slacking off and feeling sorry for myself were now not an option, so I exchanged thoughts about the events while giving high fives for anyone I knew heading towards me. My family were also coming into sight, so the finish was almost reached.

With just 500 meters to go Alex asked if he could finish the run with me. I thought we were going a decent pace, but he later commented, "I thought you could have been going faster". We crossed the line together, and the finishers medal that had seemed a tad tacky when I saw one on a competitor 15 minutes earlier, now was gratefully received. My initial thoughts were of relief finishing, but also of doing double this distance in scorching heat next March.

My time for the event was 5:48, and after a brief chat at the finish I managed to find the only section of sharp stones along the beach front and stood waist deep in the water for five minutes. If I had been told before the event that I would do 2:02 for the 21kms of running, then I would have taken it, so despite looking back and considering the time I lost here and there I need to be satisfied with my efforts. The following Wednesday the fatigued hit me, and I now know that my efforts that day were genuine.

Evidence that I beat Alex across the finish line - A rematch is planned for the Ironman.

Next up is the Taupo 5km swim (16 January), then two Scorching Tri's (January and February), and finally the Ironman. I am yet to enter the Graperide Ultimate (20 days after the Ironman), and this may yet be added to the equation. My focus is the Ironman though…and frankly little else.

The weekend taught me that I have much to learn about triathlon. My breathing must improve while swimming all out, with the legs needing to stay strong on the bike, and a requirement on the run is my mind mastering the task at hand. In cycling the time trial is called, “The race of truth”, but I have found the run in a triathlon to be truth itself. You quickly discover how much you want to finish. A truth of the Ironman is that I will run myself into the ground on 6 March. Any less will mean a marathon of five to six hours. This scenario would be a bitterly disappointing way to finish the season.

So much ground has been covered in the last six months. I have literally learnt to swim, and started running again for the first time in 12 years. This is not the time to be complacent though. Life is short, and we may never know if opportunities to participate in events like the Ironman will arise again. Thus, I look forward to the next few months of intensive Ironman training and then completing the Ironman being 38 years young. Life is good.

The Taupo Half Ironman marked the halfway point in my season. I haven’t done it all alone, so a special "Thank you" to...
Lynley Brown - Coach extraordinaire, former professional Ironman athlete, and age group world champion. I couldn't swim in May and via Lynley has patiently gotten me through the basics and onto endurance swims in no time at all. My amazement at progress has only been surpassed by the admiration for Lynley's willingness to answer endless questions about all things Ironman.

Hammer Nutrition - For continuing to sell the best endurance fuel on the market. Rachael Button has also provided key information about how (and when) to use Hammer products. This has meant that I have gone from feeling sick in every event to having complete peace of mind about my fuelling.

On Yer Bike - Not only the best bike shop on the Kapiti Coast, but they have a superb team to back up the range of all things cycling. A huge thanks to Nigel, Matt, Simon, and the rest of the team on Rimu Road.

My Wife Ruth – You are appreciated. I love the fact that you have no sporting interest at all, but follow what I do because you love me. You are difference between existing through life and living it.

The Commute

2009-11-25T17:54:00.004+13:00

From - "Stepping Up", by Stu Downs.

Chapter 18 – "The Commute"

"The strangest secret in the world is that you become what you think about.”
Earl Nightingale

I’m usually one for seeing time as being a rather abstract concept. I mean, what are two or three minutes here or there in the larger scheme of things. Is it really the end of the world if something starts a little earlier (or later), or the duration differs to what was expected. At times though it really does matter to us. The reasons for this meaning are often just as important as the event itself, with time being seen for the precious commodity that it is. Whether it is the bus that departed 30 seconds earlier than it should have (meaning you were late for work), or maybe the day you arrived somewhere two minutes earlier than usual and met the person who ended up being the love of your life. Yes, occasionally those intangible fragments of time that sometimes mean very little are worth more than we could have imagined.

An obvious area for focusing on time is sports. Personally, I haven’t paid a huge amount of attention to this aspect of my cycling over the last four and a half years, as greater emphasis has been found in ‘simply’ completing events, with the distances extended in subsequent events to in turn extend myself. There has however been a constant in my life for the last four years that has irked me on more than one occasion. That would be the 30km commute from the Kapiti Coast to Porirua.

It is interesting to note that for someone who has a number of superstitions, (none of which will be elaborated on here!!), I chose Friday the 13th (of May 2005) for my very first commute to work by bike. It was with great trepidation I set off for a great adventure from Kapiti, and hoped that I would make it to the destination in one piece. I did. The previous six months had seen me driving to work scoping the circuit, with great attention focused on every pothole, drain, narrow bridge, or glass strewn portion of the commute to work. I knew the day for commuting by bike would come though. With cycling becoming a larger part of my life I decided to setoff for work with little knowledge as to where the journey would truly take me. No, I would go further than the 30kms each way. Some may say that starting the regular commute to work saw parts of who I was cease to exist, with the rain, winds, dirty roads, and long forgotten discarded rubbish from thoughtless motorists becoming my avenue to work. Commuting no longer acted as a way of staying ‘ahead of the game’, and losing five minutes here or there was never an issue. In fact, my daily highlight often became that (at best) forgettable commute. It would be fair to say that the commute to work slowly turned me into a cyclist.

The rainy days are the best. Sitting at your desk, endorphins buzzing around inside of your head while you take heart in the knowledge that half the challenge is completed for today, and on the way home you’ll do it all again. Then the conversations begin. “Isn’t it awful outside??” “Yes, nasty weather.” “This dreadful run of weather has gone on for days hasn’t it.” None of these comments directed to myself I might add, as the reply, “It’s just water” has ensured I am not explicitly invited into any pointless conversations. In fact, I am sometimes asked, “How do you do it??”

It has not all been happy memories however. It would be fair to say that lycra was not invented by someone who was overweight. It would also be an accurate assessment if I were stay that tight clothing is not particularly flattering for those on the wrong side or 100kg. Or 110kg. Or in my case initially 120kg. So it was, on a day I will always recall, I left my office in full cycling kit, with the style more ‘waddling’ (than walking), and as I reached the door someone gave a wolf whistle. I opened the door and then left the office, never looking back. As the door closed behind me I heard the 20 odd colleague spontaneously burst out laughing. I recalled this moment more than once when training has gotten hard. So when these same people have later asked the question, “How do you do it??” on those rainy, cold and windy days, I have never had the heart to say, “By ignoring you.”

Sitting at my desk then, I looked out the window late in October 2009 and knew that something special could be done this season if I simply believed in myself. Gone are the endurance rides of season’s past, and instead a lifestyle like no other. Triathlon has given me so much since the training started for Ironman back in May of this year. And thus I knew that on this day I would get the rare opportunity to commute home by bike and attempt once again to crack elusive sub-45 minute barrier. For a trip that takes 26 to 28 minutes by car on a good day I had enjoy some tidy times on the way home, with previous attempts at 45 minutes taking 48 minutes and (on two occasions) 46 minutes. However, the previous three days had seen a solo 90km TT ride, a brisk group ride of 20kms, two swims (including a swim over 2kms at pace), and 20kms of running. Oh yeah, the ride into work that morning had been into a strong headwind, and ‘lunch’ consisted of 1,250 meters of swimming. In short, I was tired. No. In short I was pretty much knackered.

As the day progressed the winds died down slightly, but I had a peculiar feeling that this was the day. From my desk at work I surveyed the wind situation, and reminded myself that I was tired, my kit was still sopping wet from the ride into work in the rain, and that it may be best just to cruise home.

The 30kms from Porirua to the Kapiti Coast.

So with legs tired at the start, I ascended a small rise near work and descending down the other side clicked through the gears. A cyclist was ahead. It seemed to take forever to catch him, and I said nothing when I passed him. Looking back seconds later I noted that he was well back and I was sitting on 45kms per hour. I didn’t look back again.

Green lights through the built up residential (and commercial) area of Mana is a must for a decent time. Slowing down and speeding up for a red light wastes time (and energy) on a ride like this, and thus I was fortunate to get green all the way. Despite doing 45-50kms per hour through Mana I was actually holding back slightly, as there was still Pukerua Bay Hill. Additionally, I knew I had a triathlon of sorts in a few short days, so started to think about where my efforts my be best placed.

I had considered that the time needed from work to the top of Pukerua Bay Hill would have to be 17 minutes or less for any chance of the 45 minute mark. Thus reaching the top in 18 minutes I was left knowing that I was now behind the clock. I decided to not push too hard yet however, and enjoyed the winds as I sat on 40-45kms per hour along Centennial Highway, and through to Paekakariki. I reached Paekakariki at 30:06. I had 15 minutes. NOW was the time to push the pace.

The settlement at Pukerua Bay marks 10kms of 30 completed.

In a moment of infinite wisdom I had emptied most of my water (to save weight) going up Pukerua Bay Hill, so none was left. It would now appear I was thirsty, but that could wait. I endured a headwind through to MacKay’s Crossing and over the rail bridge caught the wind once again. Then my mind wandered.

Would this be yet another time I ‘almost made it’?? Was I actually able to finish this off?? Would I ever get this chance again?? Then I thought of how lucky I was for this opportunity. Thoughts of finishing 78th (of 79 starters) for my very first Graperide event just four years earlier. Thoughts of the disappointments and successes that I had experienced on my bike. Thoughts of finding and sometimes losing myself while cycling. Thoughts of the hillside monument I pass on this journey, with a white cross marking the spot where Steve Avery was run over by a truck four years ago. That same spot also marks the place at which I decided to not stop cycling through the winter just because it ‘was cold’.

I thought also about the ‘finish line’ being now ahead of me, and it now seemed that I had time on my side. It always seems easy when you make it, so I wasn’t going to leave things to chance, and ‘squeezed’ between several cars rounding the roundabout and passing through the other side of the roundabout stopped the timer at 44:12. Yes!!!!!

Having commuted the 30kms to work (or back) no less than 451 times now, I knew that this would be the one that will have the fondest memories however. I have thought long and hard about how it would feel. There is, however, nothing glorious about going fast on a bike. It’s hard work. An empty bottle, heavy legs, sore arms, and sweat running through my eyes once again. It is finishing, and not caring about anything (even if just for a few seconds). It is reaching home once again, but this time quicker than the elusive 2700 seconds that I had often hoped for. Most of all though, it is simply...reaching home.

In the larger scheme of things it truly matters to no one but myself what I did on this day, and in a peculiar way I gain some satisfaction from this fact. Like witnessing a sunrise and knowing you’ll never describe it quite like the way it was for those few moments. Yes, this was a special afternoon. Not an outing I will recall forever, but certainly one I’ll smile about while I do.

The Coastal Highway on SH1. (Kapiti is seen in the distance).

Of the 45,103kms I had ridden up until this day, very few of them have seen me thinking that much about others. But this one did. This trip’s struggle, and ultimately my realisation that this ride was about overcoming a mental barrier, was marked by crosses on the 30km stretch of SH1. As I passed each spot where someone had died I was reminded that we all reach our journey’s end, but it is up to each of us to push hard enough to ensure that this also means we reach our desired destinations before time is up. I looked at the crosses, which included the places where ‘Craig’, ‘David’, Hayden Cook, and Steve Avery all reached their end. Regardless of their intention at the journey’s outset, they didn’t get home. They didn’t die in a great battle or in a foreign land defending our freedom. No. They died in our streets and roads of this beautiful country we call New Zealand. They didn’t see Kapiti Island just ‘one more time’, or swim in the ocean one day too far past the warmest part of summer, or (if possible) they never even had the chance to take their lives for granted for another day. As you sometimes do when you live in paradise. This is never forgotten...nor should it be.

I would be lying if I denied having a tear in my eye cycling that last 5kms. Legs aching and the wind now seemingly disappearing when I needed it’s assistance the most. In those moments I became conscious that this may be my one of my last opportunities to crack this intangible barrier. I knew I could finally do it, and wanted to show myself that any thoughts of not being ready were wrong. It was also time to move on. Now I can.

Sometimes it seems life provides clarity to those prepared to look for just long enough to be left with no more than a blurred memory of a moment. Even if it is just an afternoon cycling home from work. Times, efforts, and views aside, as I look back now what I remember the most when I think of that Autumn afternoon is still vivid and has not faded in the slightest. It is that I can achieve what I set out to do. Cycling fast gives satisfaction, but the ‘great journey’ gives meaning to life. On this day then I was happy with the contentment of beating the clock, and thoughts of an epic adventure were not needed.

The Duathlons

2009-11-23T16:55:00.006+13:00

From - "Stepping Up", by Stu Downs.

Chapter 17 – "The Duathlons"

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.
Theodore Roosevelt

During late winter and early autumn each year the Wellington district experiences a number of sporting events that compliment the summer triathlons. Much to the relief of those not owning dry suits these events take part without the need for open water (winter) swimming. The nature of these events is a 'run-ride-run' approach, so the legs get a good workout. None of the results really mattered too much, as areas such as transitions, nutrition, speed, and ‘getting it right on the day’ were practiced. I was acutely aware that the journey towards the 2010 Ironman started with these events and thus for the first time in two years I would be competing in build up events. Has it really been that long??

I was also becoming more conscious that I needed something epic on the plate. IM is moths away and these build up events provided little more than teasers. Give me the solitude of the truly long event, where competitors become a welcome sight (and source of encouragement). That will wait for now though. The entree to this season had arrived...

In hot pursuit at the Kapiti Harriers Duathlon

Kapiti Harriers Duathlon - 2km run / 13km bike / 2km run.
The Kapiti Harriers had four duathlons this season. This was the fourth, with the first run before I decided to do Ironman, and the previous two races missed due to illness. Yep, things had been a little shaky, but with a proper training program things had changed for the better. In fact, I didn’t know it at the time, but the event marked a remarkable run of training, with this being 'Week One' whereby not a single swim, bike, run, stretch session, or yoga session being missed for no less than nine weeks. These injury free days were eventually taken for granted, as was a pleasant start to the season.

It was a clear day for the race, but being the tail end of winter the start was chilly to say the least. As we setoff for the initial 2km run (which I suspect is actually 2.5kms) I recalled several weeks earlier where I had run this circuit three times averaging just over 13 minutes on each occasion. As luck would have it I ran into a bush on Lap 3 that evening and accepted that it was getting a little dark for off-road running. A time of 10:10 for the run was a little surprising, but to follow was possibly the slowest T1 transition ever. Daryl Rutter and myself then played cat and mouse for the 13kms, (never drafting I might add), before another slow transition had me running off in pursuit of those who had arrived after me on the bike.

A close finish would decide things and there would be three of us sprinting for 3rd place. I finished behind the other two, (later regretting not finding a way past them), and learnt an important lesson. "Know where the finish line is". Yep, a simple but not insignificant point.

Fathers Day Scorching Duathlon - 5km run / 20km bike / 2.5km run.
Next up was the first of the Scorching Bay duathlons. I had never done one of the scorching events, so it didn’t seem odd that the event was held some 40kms from Scorching Bay...in Upper Hutt. To say the weather for the day was perfect would not be an understatement. I even got slightly sunburnt, which at the time didn’t seem odd, but the next six weeks would bring nothing but foul weather that in hindsight meant the beautiful weather on the day was a false dawn as far as summer was concerned. There was a bit of racing too though.

The day was remarkable for it’s lack of highlights. I made a point of reminding myself that I need to lose some weight while riding up Whiteman’s Valley, but these thoughts were put to one side as I roared down the other side and held off anyone attempting to pass me. This would be my last ride at an event on the road bike, so I wanted to give it a good day out. The lasting two memories were the calves cramping (shortly after a superfast T2), and then out sprinting another competitor at the finish. It was interesting to note that the discomfort during the race hurt less than the irritation I felt after the last event.

Final Scorching Duathlon - 4km run / 24km bike / 4km run.
The third of the three duathlons saw a contrast in the weather, with my introduction to Scorching Bay including a hailstorm in the middle of the bike leg. This concerned me little...mainly due to me having a tailwind at the time. I have to confess that on a day that otherwise saw me focused solely on my race, I had a wry smile on my face as I listened to the approaching cyclists yelp under an apparent blanket of frozen rain being fired at their faces. Truth be known, I love the extreme weathers though, and probably would have been smiling if I had been receiving a face full of hail. As it was, I simply heard the tap-tap-tap on my helmet.

The second of the two running sections saw my calf issues surface once and for all, with the last 500 meters shifting out of the discomfort zone to the pain zone. Not good. Crossing the line I simply closed my eyes and hoped my legs would keep me moving forward. Fatigue is fine, but simply put that was not fun. No. I looked forward to a post-race stretch and eventually decided on asking an Ambulance driver for an icepack.

At the foreshore of Lake Taupo. (Photo taken just south of Hatepe).

What else can really be said about three short course duathlons. No. Nothing epic, and frankly I struggled at times to get my head around doing events for the ‘fun’ of it. For the last two years the only events I have done were essentially show stoppers if things went south. These recent events were ‘sum zero’, with someone first, second, third, and inevitably last. Few would hang onto the memories, and some will have forgotten many of their lessons of those days before the next event arrived.

The following week I would see the physio everyday. Additionally, I wasn’t to know it at the time, but I was also carrying a nasty bug that hit me a few days later. As always, the visits of the ‘Black Dog’ leave me full of vigour and hope, and to be frank at one stage it made me reconsider where things were really at. Shortly thereafter on two occasions I even thought, "Why follow this journey??". Not a high point I do concede. However, an auspicious conversation with a friend put all of this into perspective, with Amit commenting that, "Sometimes when you feel like giving up the worst is almost behind you". No truer words ever spoken.

The story so far then is not lined with ‘Triple Loops’ of the Akatarawa’s, or 325km Wairarapa loops. No. Instead it is of, and about, the grind. I recall the road towards Taupo late last November, when everything seemed so bleak, and I learned so much about myself. That was hard work, but the reward was just 10 hours away. Triathlon is day after day. That is not to say that I dread it. All going well I can think of little else I would rather be doing. A lottery win would simply mean I could get in more training, and I would continue with this goal for sure. No, it’s when things aren’t going ideally that you look within yourself. That’s when you start to evaluate ‘why’ this is happening. Not so much what you are training towards, but who you want to be when you get there.

Several months ago, with aching ankles and knees that were starting to be sore after runs, I got a coach onboard. Lynley said that there were two clear goals for this journey. Firstly, to get the start line in the best possible shape, and secondly to get through the summer without a divorce. Both are on track and for this I am grateful, and I am enjoying a season that has more balance to it than the 2008/09 campaign.

My true goal therefore is the start line. The event won’t “take care of itself”, but I know that as with the Maxi Enduro, I’ll have my easy out at any point I wish, with the water being entered for my warm up for the lake swim being my point of no return. On more than one occasion I have been enduring a hard workout and have imagined how the sand between my toes will feel at the start line next March. It is only recently that I have realised how much I long for an epic outing, and in the past few weeks it has also dawned on me that those moments on the foreshore of Lake Taupo early next year will become the end of this journey…and the beginning of my next.

IM Training Camp #1

2009-08-12T17:54:00.003+12:00

From - "Stepping Up", by Stu Downs.

Chapter 15 – "A Fresh Start".

The Ironman will try and psyche you out and wear you down over the course of the year. If you know what to expect then each swing Ironman takes at you will have less effect. The way ironman can beat you is with self doubt. If your self doubt gets to a point where you decide not to take on the challenge then Ironman has beaten you. This is where it beats most people even before they even get close to the start line. The first self doubt weapon is in the form of
other people. They will constantly either tell you or imply that “you can’t do it” when they have no idea if you can or not. They will tell you “it is a long way” which is not rocket science. They will tell you they had a friend who has done Ironman and make them out to be much better than you. If they have done it themselves and are really self absorbed they will even imply how much better they are than you. The other even more deadly weapon is Ironman intimidating you directly. This will be you telling yourself you cannot possibly do something like that. What where you thinking? Are you insane? Don’t tell anyone or they will laugh, your not good enough, etc. This is all Ironman trickery and not true at all. Be ready for it and know that this is what prevents everyone else from taking on the challenge.
http://www.ironman.co.nz/main.cfm?id=121

With just over 200 days until the 2010 Ironman I saw the time to be right to revisit my much loved Taupo and test the legs on the cycle circuit. This point in time brought about the first real step towards my new goal, but what I thought would be a physical journey towards next March (via 90kms of road) ended up being more about a realisation of who (or what) I am up against. It was also a chance to reflect on the last 18 months of my life, with endurance cycling having seemingly had enough of me for now.

So it was that once again I would travel to Taupo. Not November, but eager none the less to embrace whatever the Great Lake had in store for me. This time I would be traveling alone too, with a flying 1 night visit for the trip planned, and flying it was, with a $120 speeding ticket awaiting me the following week. Foiled by the sneaky speed camera in Sanson!!

This trip though was different to all of the others to Taupo. This time not a single km of the Taupo Challenge circuit being ridden. In fact, the decision to not participate in the Taupo Challenge had been made weeks earlier. So this would be Taupo, but not as I would have experienced it before, as my new goals would well and truly leave behind those memories of last season. Clinical and unemotional, the task head is to big to stand on the sidelines pondering this and that. I will be jumping in the deep end and will get through this challenge…doing whatever it takes.

My thoughts on the trip up did allow for some reflection however, mainly due to there being about 90 minutes of no radio reception whatsoever. This allowed for some closure on last season. I recall several nights after completing this years Graperide Ultimate, waking in a cold sweat and saying out loud, "Only 2 laps to go!!". I was still seeing the darkened road ahead of me while sleeping, and in many ways still do...when I want to recall the rides that I overcame last season. Utter madness, but I loved it. The hunger for a new goal became stronger than the endurance cycling that had become such a large part of my life. So part of my off season break was allocated to occasionally thinking about what I wanted to face through my sports.

With a new goal being sought, I reached a point at which my life transformed in many respects. What is a true challenge?? Speaking as someone who was literally a non-swimmer as at mid-May, I suspected something that included swimming would be ideal, thus it could be said that Ironman is a natural choice. But as with cycling, I suspect that I did not choose Ironman, no the Ironman chose me.

The bike circuit at Taupo. There are 2 laps of 90kms each.

So after 10 weeks of training I was off to scope the bike course at Taupo. It is safe to say that I’ll never look at a pair of running shoes (or a swimming pool!!) quite the same again, but the bike is not to be taken for granted. No epic riding would be taking place on this particular weekend, but instead an opportunity to look ahead, with an emotionally detached view of the task Taupo would have for me this time.

I got through torrential rain and side winds along the desert road without incident, and arrived in a peaceful and quiet Taupo. So quiet in fact that I was asleep by 8:15pm. This left me feeling good on the Saturday morning. (10 hours sleep will do that!!). I ate breakfast, got the bike ready, and locked up the van - All the time keeping an eye on the wall of rain rapidly heading my way. Sure enough, my much loved 'head wind and showers' was to be the outward leg.

After completing 7 laps of the Taupo Challenge in the last 3 years I anticipated the worst in terms of hills on the course, so was pleasantly surprised at the time trial circuit. After a technical departure out of Taupo, (both up hill and seldom in a straight line), the road simply opens up and you can get into a good rhythm once on the course proper. The course suits a powerful rider, with the ‘mountain goats’ who may have enjoyed other hills around Taupo losing much of their advantage on this circuit. Apart from part of a sofa on the road (which I moved), the trip out to Reporoa was surprising straightforward. I was also about 5 minutes ahead of schedule, and this was into a head wind.

Turning around and heading back towards Taupo I maintained the same heart rate (80% of max) on the way back. With a tailwind this had me comfortably sitting on 40kms an hour at times, and I really wondered (and have since) about the time that could be saved sitting on a time trial bike. The last 15kms also got me thinking that pushing the pace a little, I could easily go under 3 hours for the 90kms. The eventual time for the 90kms was 3:12, and I can honestly say that I never went into the 'red zone'. With no endurance training or speed work this is very pleasing. My day was not done yet though.

Quickly packing the bike away I popped on my fuel belt and head off for a 15 minute run. This was all about keeping form, but this was made easier by the occasional glance at shop windows, with my reflection reminding me that in a full Hammer tri kit (including skull cap and wrap around mirrored glasses), I either kept good form or would look like a complete poser.

My work was done for now. I packed up, and departed, but knowing I would be back scoped out available accommodation. It is sobering to note (for those who have not booked), the Taupo Challenge and Ironman weekends are $275 for the basic cabin. I was informed that there was just 1 left, with the inference being that this was a bargain. Some say I was mad to cycle overnight, but it was certainly cheaper!!

The journey home seemed quicker than normal, and I guess I knew that I was closer to both the Half IM in December, and also the IM next March. Maybe though I was just happy to cycle in Taupo and have a course that was a true pleasure to ride. The trip back home also got me thinking about the journey towards next March. That is, the training ahead of me.

At the start of my triathlon training I wondered, "Which would be harder, IM or the Maxi Enduro". After training for a month it changed. Then I wondered how I would fair as a triathlete in an endurance cycling event. “Would I be better than I was”?? Then I thought about placings, times and other factors that I shouldn’t be thinking of. (Not until after the event anyway). Those pointless thoughts are all behind me though. Finally, I find myself in a good place and accept it doesn't really matter.

Ultimately I will be facing my challenge head on. As a IM newbie, my aspirations for specific times or placings on the day won't count for much if the basics haven't been done. The process of learning (and mastering) swimming, cycling, running, nutrition, and my mental approach is the key to this journey. What will be remembered 20 years from now?? Finishing the course or doing a sub-"XX" hour event??

Those I start with will have their own demons to face on the course, and each of us will have just 1 true enemy. Sitting, waiting, and watching. There is a single entity we are all up against. At weaker moments appearing in some form and tempting us to give up. But we will not, as there is always hope. For those who make the start line, it will be known that all of the work counts for nothing if we let go of what we have strived towards throughout our training. At the start line I will remind myself of a single fact, a fact I will have recalled everyday of my training. I have 17 hours to finish the course...and defeat the Ironman.

Proverbs 7:19.
“For the good man is not at home, he is gone a long journey”.

The Graperide Ultimate

2009-04-13T14:44:00.005+12:00

From - "Stepping Up", by Stu Downs.

Chapter 13 – The Graperide Ultimate

Perseverance is the hard work you do after you get tired of doing the hard work you already did.
Newt Gingrich. (Kindly sent to me by Steve Plowman).

During the 2008 Maxi Enduro my entire season started to unravel at about the 430km mark. Ahead of me were 2 Hatepe’s and the long straight road heading north back to Taupo...where I would start each lap all over again. Yes, it got pretty bleak. Many things were considered and weighed up along this stretch of road, including my sanity for sitting on the bike for that long, spending all of that time training, and most of all spending time away from my 3 beautiful children. But I finished, and in doing so broke through a distance I had doubted.

With the season a success, and still a lot of training to do I enjoyed 2 weeks off the bike and then got back into my training. It would be a long road to the Graperide, with 4 months of training to an all out 505km race around the Graperide circuit. So, in the midst of training for the Graperide Ultimate I decided it was time to finish my degree. Studying part time takes forever, but with just 4 papers to go I know that if I don’t finish my degree now I never will. So this created an additional variable with my training. Not much down time from now on, but I still have a lot to do.

There were a few other changes from January onwards. I did a few Waikanae Crits, (very rare for me), several higher intensity long rides, and a few longer group rides. This all assisted to take me well out of my comfort zone and with the intensity higher on my rides, the feeling of my cycling really shifted from the solo lone rides of mid to late 2008 to inclusive tempo riding that often spat cyclists out the back of our groups, but oddly seldom included me with those who blew up. Everything was different. No, this was not Taupo.

Actually, nothing was like Taupo. I feel I peaked too soon (mentally) and felt stale in the weeks leading up the event. In fact I was sick for 3 weeks. Another comparison between the events is Taupo having me in a Zen like state leading up to the outing, but this time I was wound up like a swiss watch. Finally though, and critically, in a mind set whereby I felt I was doing everything for the 1,000th time, there was something truly unique. There was a cut-off of 19 hours at the start of Lap 5. This was not a factor of the event I liked, but I acknowledge it was a way of ensuring riders were off the course by a specific time.

With all of this clutter we all departed for Blenheim. It would be fair to say that I was not in a good place as we headed over to Blenheim. Did I mention I had an essay based exam on my first day back in the North Island?? No, apparently the stars were not lining up for this outing. This said, having grown up in sunny Marlborough I now thoroughly enjoyed the trips back to my childhood town, as it meant I was on holiday each time I was in the district.

This Graperide outing would mark both the 5th edition of the event, and also my 5th occasion of participating. The circuit is 101kms in a circular loop, which is ridden in an anti-clockwise direction. In 2005 and 2006 the longest distance available was 101kms, but in 2007 the 2 lap Magnum was introduced, with this being repeated in 2008. My previous outings have all gone as well as could have been expected under the respective circumstances, with the below times representing my efforts for each year...
2005 - 4:04 (Solo).
2006 - 3:19 (Solo).
2007 - 7:07 (2 lap Magnum).
2008 - 6:33 (2 lap Magnum).

Me at the inaugural Graperide event in 2005.

"Everything was different. No, this was not Taupo."

We actually left for Blenheim on the Wednesday, as I am a fairly poor traveller, and I reminded myself of the money we were saving by crossing by boat (rather than flying) as we endured a bumpy sailing that left my son and myself in a foetal position trying to sleep through the large swells and white capped surroundings. This was possibly the moment that I realised that this may simply not be my year.

The following day was spent generally getting gear ready and stressing out. I went out for a sedate 10km ride with Mum and Dad just before lunch. This would loosen up my legs and get me all ready for the race the following day. I arrived back at their place and actually needed a sleep after the ride. That evening Dad asked me, “How do you feel about the event??”. I didn’t need to think about a reply, as it was on my mind already. Without making eye contact I simply said, “I know what I’m in for”. Yes, it would be a sufferfest...regardless of what happened and how well I fair suffering would be had. This conversation would be played over and over in my mind as I went out to the start / finish the following day. The ball was in my court in terms of how I approached this event and I needed to decide whether to sit back or back myself.

Friday arrived and with a 2pm send-off it was a long wait. I went to the start / finish area and registered at 10:30am. Soon after I finished packing my gear and we all departed for the event. On the way to the race I felt like I was heading off to my execution, so was fairly quiet about the ride ahead of me. All this talk of the season being a success 4 months earlier meant very little at this point in time. I also thought more about specific heart rate (HR) zones for the event, and used this time to contemplate, but get no further ahead with any concrete decision.

So with no game plan and no real idea what the next 24 hours had in store for me I headed off on my own to warm-up. It was interesting that few others did this, and this point was not lost on me. It should be noted that those riders I lined up against were not to be underestimated. Included were 2 riders who completed the 2007 Paris-Brest-Paris (1,200km), along with former Olympian Robin Reid (who also won the Elite section of the Graperide a couple of years ago), and lets not forget our field also had the runner-up from last year’s Taupo Maxi Enduro. The other riders were here to compete.

I warmed up back and forth along the main road, and began to have this growing feeling that I was ready to go then and there. At this point I thought to myself, “Ok then, lets have it!!”. I also decided that it was better to be the wolf than the lamb, and if I was to miss the cut-off for this event it would be through going too hard than simply fading away. We had a short ride briefing, and then lined up for the Grande Depart. I would like to say that I felt nostalgic in these moments, but truth be known I simply wanted to shout out to the race director Pete Halligan, “Start the ****ing race!!”. Looking back this is possibly the point that I was ready. And just in time too, as we were off...

My pre-race estimate of how long each lap may take is below, with 9am the cut-off of the start of Lap 5. This was a realistic best case scenario for my progress. Having said this, I was very concerned that I would miss the cut-off...
Lap 1 – 4:00 (2pm to 6pm).
Lap 2 – 4:30 (6pm to 10:30pm).
Lap 3 – 4:30 (10:30pm to 3am).
Lap 4 – 4:45 (3am to 7:45am).
Lap 5 – 5:00 (7:45am to 12:45pm).

The 2009 Graperide Ultimate Grande Depart

“How do you feel about the event??”. “I know what I’m in for”.

Having competed in the (2 lap) Graperide Magnum for last 2 years I expected nothing but a sufferfast start to this event. In fact, I fully expected to be dropped by Blenheim. However, in the opening moments of the race it would be fair to say that the pace was sedate. This continued through Renwick, and I thought that at any moment the flag would drop. But no. Through Blenheim and on our way to Picton more of the same, sitting on 28-32kms per hour I was getting more and more puzzled about how this event was unfolding. Still slow progress through Grovetown and then Tua Marina, and then past the airport the same. I realised that the pace would start on the hills, and enjoyed the last few kms of group riding as we approached the relatively steep ‘Elevation’ climb just before Picton. The start to this outing had been a gift.

Nearing Picton several riders actually commented at how fast the pace had been. This would later turn out to be a sign that they were possibly riding too hard, but personally I was feeling pretty good about the pace. None of that mattered now though, as the Elevation was rapidly approaching. Getting to the base of the climb I sat up. Despite taking it easy up the first climb my HR went through the roof and I felt out of breath for the first time on this ride. I counted 8 riders ahead of me as the leaders rode away and shortly thereafter I would be alone.

It would be fair to say that riding alone would be a theme on this ride. With the exception of the last 5kms of lap 2 I would have the next 465kms riding solo. I’m not trying to paint a dark picture about the situation though, as we took 1:20 thru to Picton!! (This compares to the 60 minutes for the Magnum last year). I caught up with Colin Anderson after the race and he said that the leaders did Lap 1 in 3:00. So the speed from Picton through to the start / finish was the equivalent to a 2:40 pace. Not bad for Lap 1 of 5 considering the Elite winner did 2:28!! So in hindsight I am pleased I rode at my own tempo, as the race had started in earnest shortly after I sat up. Just like Taupo there would be a high DNF rate (over 40% of riders pulled out) due to, I assume, riders pushing too hard too soon.

My strategy wasn’t sedate however, with a ‘comfortable’ pace 80-85% on the flat and 85% on the hills. This compares to 68-72% on the flat at Taupo. I knew I’d blow-up, but my sole goal now was catching someone. Anyone. The reason was the winds between Blenheim and Picton. With a brutal headwind to Picton (to be repeated 5 times for good measure), some kind of rhythm needed to be found. So if I could catch someone we could work together through the headwinds. Then once at Picton it would be every man for himself once again. That was the plan anyway, and if nothing else it gave me something to think about while I tapped out a moderate pace getting closer to the start / finish. In fact, I checked the time about 10kms out and realised how far ahead of schedule I was. Ruth would not be expecting me this early and looking likely for 3:20 for Lap 1 I phoned ahead to advise of my earlier than expected completion of Lap 1.

Those final kms of Lap 1 were really the only time in the event that I felt any emotion. 4 years ago in the inaugural Graperide event I rode in my first cycle race. I had done 10 weeks training and weighed about 30kg more than I do now. It was pretty grim stuff. I still don’t know how I did 4:04 on that day, as it seemed like 8 hours at the time. So here I was, 4 years later, a Maxi Enduro cyclist, 40 mins ahead of schedule, and feeling good. How much things had changed...

Lap 1 Summary
Start Time – 2pm.
Finish Time (including transition) – 5:25pm.
Lap Time – 3:25.
Expected Lap Time – 4:00.
Schedule Status – 35 mins up.
New Expected ETA for Lap 5 Start – 7:10am. (Cut-off at 9am).

A view of the Queen Charlotte Sound.

“Included were 2 riders who completed the 2007 Paris-Brest-Paris, a former Olympian, and last year’s Taupo Maxi Enduro runner-up. The other 13 riders were here to compete.”

Lap 2 would be more of the same. That is, solo riding, pacing myself, and trying to stay in some kind of contact with those in front of me. I was 7 minutes behind the next set of riders, and 20 minutes behind the leaders at this stage. My plan was simple. I had 115kms to catch someone, so at least Blenheim to Picton would have some shelter on Lap 3. Other than that it was time to settle in for the long haul.

I would push the pace into the wind on this lap and through to Picton would not let up. This meant I was well placed for a daylight assault on the entire Queen Charlotte and importantly I could ride the descents at pace. (Due to my vision this would be my last time bombing through the Queen Charlotte in this event). Support vehicles were allowed and the plan was for Ruth to leapfrog me on this lap, with her signing off at the end of the Lap 2. She struggled to stay with me in the van through the Queen Charlotte and this was encouraging.

With lights fitted I settled into the rules of night that I would need to respect for the next 10 hours. Shortly thereafter I enjoyed a rapid descent into Havelock and had my only close call of the outing, with the second sweeping corner needing harder breaking that I gave it on the first attempt. Having the breaks lockup in the dark is not something you want to do too often, but the road surface didn’t help, with the freshly swept surface leaving a sandy layer on many corners.

I sat on 35 to 38kms per hour and tapped out a good pace from Havelock. Ruth was under instructions to give progress reports of those seen ahead or behind me. Out of the blue came the update, “Riders 2 to 3 minutes back”. I could see their lights way behind me, and on the next straight they were just 100 meters back!! The group of 3 riders exchanged pleasantries and passed me doing 45-50kms per hour. I jumped on the back and actually started to cramp whenever I took my turn at the front. I asked the inevitable question, “Are you finishing Lap 2 or Lap 3??”. They were also on Lap 2, but were riding like they had lapped me. The pace was to hot, but for now it would save me several minutes. Their plan was to have a 5 minute stop and then to carry on. I arrived at the transition and changed into my night clothes and was gone within 5 minutes.

I never saw those riders again however. It later transpired that they pulled out later in Lap 3. Withdrawing from the event was apparently becoming another theme, with several other riders pulling out on the third lap. The exodus included former Olympian Robin Reid. Lap 3 was now ahead of me, and this was to me the critical lap.

Lap 2 Summary
Start Time – 5:25pm.
Finish Time (including transition) – 9:25pm.
Lap Time – 4:00.
Expected Lap Time – 4:30.
Schedule Status – 65 mins up.
New Expected ETA for Lap 5 Start – 6:40am. (Cut-off at 9am).

The Graperide circuit.

“The start to this outing had been a gift, but I would have the next 465kms riding solo.”

With night clothes now on Ruth was informed that she could now go home to enjoy some well earned sleep. The original game plan had been for Ruth to meet me at about 8:30am for the start of Lap 5, but I was well ahead of schedule so I said I’d simply phone on Lap 5 to advise of my ETA at the finish. Ruth remained at the transition area sorting my drinks etc after I left, and this meant my food was sorted for the remainder of the event. It must be said that the transition area was to behold. There were 2 guys signing people in, with everyone’s gear placed around them. You simply arrived, signed in, were assisted with gear, and left. They even knew which boxes of gear belonged to which cyclists. I have to say, this was head and shoulders ahead of Taupo’s service station sign-in arrangement, and is a credit to the Graperide organisers. Well done Pete Halligan!!

About 10kms into Lap 3 I was feeling decidedly cooked. I had been pushing the pace pretty hard and apparently the gap was just 10 minutes to the riders ahead of me. I decided that time had come to ease up slightly though, or I’d have repeat of what happened on the Wairarapa Loop, where I never eased up until my legs were gone. So it was a relatively sedate pace through to Blenheim, with a moderate pace into the wind through to Picton.

The temperatures were dropping by now, with 2 clear sets of temperatures. South of the Wairua river it was freezing. I mean really cold. However, north of the Wairua river it was relatively warm. This meant cold temperatures for about the first 40 minutes of the lap. I was prepared for the cooler weather though, and had exactly the same clothes as Taupo overnight...except this time I started in my Skins leggings, and wearing them for entire race saved my approximately 10 minutes at transitions.

With the cold temperatures came the issue of my right eye once again. In short, it goes foggy on colder overnight rides. The situation meant very slow going through Queen Charlotte’s descents, as I found it difficult to judge distances and gradient changes. By now I accepted that I wouldn’t catch anyone on this outing, and I accepted that I also wouldn’t be through the start / finish by 6am for the start of Lap 5, (thus being ahead of the Magnum riders who started at 6am). This disappoint was short lived, as I reminded myself that at 2pm the previous day I had doubts about making the 9am cut-off!! I wondered how the 2 lapper event would go, with a 60 minute ride into the headwind for the first 40kms thru to Picton setting the tone for a complete sufferfest. Several Kapiti Cycling Club riders were entered for the Magnum this year, so their experiences would follow later.

It was past Havelock, heading towards the start / finish once again, that I decided to push the pace once again. In the middle of nowhere, in the dark and alone, there can be moments where you ask why bother pushing the pace when you don’t really need to. I pushed on though and reminded myself that easing up too much would simply cost me time. Self motivation was really needed on this ride, as over 92% of it was ridden alone and it would have been straight forward to take it easy at any time. It’s not like there would have been anyone there to shout at me to go faster.

In the last few kms of Lap 3 I did ease up a fraction and reminded myself that I had just 101kms to sign-in and then I was safe in terms of the cut-off. This meant a great deal to me, as I was the only person starting the Graperide Ultimate who had ridden in every event, and who had also participated in 2 Magnums. Finishing thus meant I would be the only person who had completed maximum distance of 1,110kms over the 5 editions of the Graperide. If you had told me this 4 years ago I would have thought you a little mad.

I pulled into the transition area and was pretty pleased to have brief break. The guy at the sign-in area asked me if I was pulling out, I thought this a little odd, but it later transpired that 6 riders had pulled out in the previous 2-3 hours. I clearly said “I’m not giving up”. But it seemed fitting that when I also said, “This is almost as tough as Taupo”, the guys in the sign-in area couldn’t understand me. I was getting mentally tired too, and the only mistake of this event was made while I was in the transition area. With my outing having 95% of my calories from the bottle of Hammer Perp on each lap my next move was not clever. In a moment of infinite wisdom I decided to take 3 bottles on Lap 4. So 3 bottles of water (and not my Hammer Perp) were grabbed, and with little thought off I went. I would realise in Renwick what had happened.

Lap 3 Summary
Start Time – 9:25pm.
Finish Time (including transition) – 1:55am.
Lap Time – 4:30.
Expected Lap Time – 4:30.
Schedule Status – 65 mins up.
New Expected ETA for Lap 5 Start – 6:40am. (Cut-off at 9am).

Profile of the Graperide circuit.

“So here I was, 4 years later, a Maxi Enduro cyclist, 40 mins ahead of schedule, and feeling good.”

Stopping in Renwick briefly I took stock of where I was at with spare food. I would lose significant time by turning back, and thus was relieved to find I had enough for caloric needs on Lap 4. No Hammer Perp on this lap though, and the spare food was simply random bars and gels. Lesson learnt (apart from needing to remember to actually grab your food!!) – Spare food should match race food.

With a now stronger headwind towards Picton I was reminded of the stretch between Turangi and Hatepe close to midnight during the Maxi Enduro. Yes, late last November it had been a hard stretch of road at night, with the road markers and poorly swept road meaning I need to ride to the right of the white line, but the endless stream of trucks made this seemingly simple task dangerous. The roads were wider and safer as I headed towards Picton however, and even the bridges were fine. As I approached the Elevation I recalled riding with the group, now 300kms ago, and wondered how others were getting on with their respective rides. It seemed meaningless that we all started together now, as everyone had their own personal battles to contend with.

Halfway up the second climb out of Picton, (the longest climb on the circuit), I stopped to get the last of my spare food. I was feeling decidedly light headed and was also having odd cravings for KFC french fries and sausage rolls...never of which I normally eat. Then near the top of the same climb I stopped again. I was freezing cold. Why had I not sorted everything at once??(!!) A raincoat was put on and I reminded myself that obstacles (such as headwinds to Picton and freezing temperatures), were to be managed by everyone, so this was simply something to get through.

I never felt sorry for myself regarding the state of my vision, but this was becoming an issue. I crawled through the downhill sections of the Queen Charlotte and had lost all vision in my right eye. Unless I was mistaken I was starting to losing vision in my right eye also. With however just 150kms to go there was no time to waste thinking about factors out of my control.

Riding between Havelock and the transition area I became aware that I was watching the white line on the left of the road to guide my way. While this may not sound odd, this was out of necessity, not choice. The reason was due to my left eye now losing vision also.

Finally, I arrived at transition for the 4th time. The first thing I did was grab my bottle of Hammer Perp, as there was no way I was going without this for 2 laps!! By now I had actually started to feel a bit sick from the bars etc, so food I knew I could rely on was well received. I could barely sign-in though, and had to ask where my name was. After being told I simply asked the guy to put his finger on the paper and I signed next to it. This was getting silly, but it wouldn’t get better. On Lap 5 I never once was able to read the time or speed on my cycle computer.

Lap 4 Summary
Start Time – 1:55pm.
Finish Time (including transition) – 6:50pm.
Lap Time – 4:55.
Expected Lap Time – 4:45.
Schedule Status – 55 mins up.
Lap 5 Started at 6:50am. (Cut-off at 9am).

Starting with 13 others, I would end up riding 465kms on my own.

“I never saw those riders again. Just like Taupo there would be a high DNF rate (over 40% of riders pulled out).”

Knowing that I had made the cut-off I hopped on my bike and readied myself for the final lap. I asked the guy at the transition area how far ahead the next riders were. “2 are XX minutes ahead, and the 2 leaders are XX minutes ahead”. (I don’t remember the exact splits he gave me). I thought it odd that I had been told the placings in exactly the same way the previous lap. “What about everyone else ahead of me??”, I replied. “That is everyone ahead of you...you’re in 5th place”.

I wondered what had happened to the remaining field and was about to setoff, when I heard Ruth’s voice calling out. I was very surprised at this. After sorting my drinks, it transpired that Ruth had gotten back to Mum and Dad’s at 10pm and had been woken by our 2 year old son between 2am and 5am. Despite the sleep deprivation she had then gotten up at 6am to get to the start / finish in case I needed anything. This was beyond anything I would have asked for, and left me feeling very loved and supported as I set off for Lap 5. I commented that she could wait at Grovetown and I’d dump my night clothes then. This was a good location for a transition as the back road meant Ruth was never ‘on the course’ on my final lap.

While cycling to Blenheim for the last time I pondered the ride and thought about my chances of getting 5th. A reality check also had me weighing up my chances on seeing all the way to the finish...as I just missed a guy walking across the road near Blenheim. This was not the time to get complacent.

Dumping my night clothes at Grovetown I carried on towards Picton. I knew my season would be finished in just over 60kms. I recall at the start of 2008 mapping out the Maxi Enduro and Graperide Ultimate, and here I was nearing the end of the season, with finishing both events looking to be actually happening. Had I really come this far??

Along this stretch of road I once again had the cravings for foods I wouldn’t normally eat anyway. This time ‘gourmet’ sausage rolls. I reminded myself that just 4 riders were ahead of me and stopping to buy junk food would have me feeling a little foolish if it cost me a placing. In fact, if this was to happen I would have missed the point of the event altogether. These kinds of food are what got me overweight to start with. I decided to ride the remainder of this event for the fat kid I had been throughout my adolescence, teenage, and later years. All I had needed to see was that everything was possible if I just believed I was in control of my destiny.

Starting the first climb after Picton I knew the Elite riders would have started by now, and the chase was on in earnest. 15 minutes behind them where the 2,500 waiting Solo riders, so I effectively had a solo breakaway with the finish line providing a good test as to whether they could catch me. This wasn’t all about my ego though, as I had now removed my glasses (no vision at all with them on), and could only just make out the white line on the left of the road. As I said to Ruth afterwards, if there had been a grey car in the middle of my lane I would had gone straight into the back of it. Therefore, my thoughts were actually of being clear of everyone else at the finish, as a crash would not be a good look!!

The Queen Charlotte descents were pretty slow going once again, with much time being lost in an area I normally excel in. All this time I expected to be passed by the Elite riders, but this wasn’t to follow until I was almost halfway between Havelock and the start / finish. I was passed by the lead car, and this obviously meant the Elite riders were soon to follow. I expected a big bunch and my cunning plan was to ask if they had passed any Ultimate riders near me, but I never bothered as they were going too fast to hear me ask, let alone reply. Being passed by just 4 Elite riders was a little puzzling though.

Being passed by riders would now apparently become a theme. I now accepted that I would be in the masses at the finish and carnage would be had around the technical finishing area. So maybe I’d get off my bike and push it to the finish line. Not the best way to finish the season.

Then I was passed by another Ultimate rider (Scotty Brown). So I assumed I was now in 6th place. I felt like I was going backwards. (In reality it transpired that Scotty Brown had slept during the night and was actually a lap down – So I was still 5th).

Time passed. 2 minutes, then 5 minutes, then 10 minutes, and still no one else had reeled me in. Those Elite riders who passed me must have been a breakaway!! I pushed on, and shortly before the finish the remaining Elite riders passed me in a single bunch. Not a word was said.

Then a single climb to go and then flat road to the finish. I heard various cheers as the finish got closer, but never made out who (or where!!) it was coming from. I turned off the main road and slowly started down the finishing road. Carefully navigating my way around the last twisting 100 meters of the circuit I was very relieved when I crossed the finish line. I was also relieved that everything had gone well.

As my transponder was being removed I heard Pete Halligan say over the loud speaker, “Done 5 laps Stu??”. I simply replied, “Yep, and then some”. I expected a “Well done”, but instead Pete gave a blow-by-blow of my 5 Graperide outings and announced that I was now the only person to have completed 1,110kms over the 5 events. It was quite humbling to have this mentioned, but to be honest I was too buggered to soak up any attention I was getting. The season was now over.

Lap 5 Summary
Start Time – 6:50am.
Finish Time – 11am.
Lap Time – 4:10.
Expected Lap Time – 5:00.
Schedule Status – 105 mins up.

The finishing area. Relief and relaxation.

“South of the Wairua river it was freezing. With the cold temperatures came the issue of my right eye once again.”

Ruth came over to great me and I told her, “I can’t see”. I had a 30 minute massage and simply switched off to everything, except for listening to the announcements of the various riders arriving. I have to say, it was very nice to finish early. Finishing at Taupo at 5:59pm (1 minute before prize giving), I really feel like I missed the chance to enjoy the atmosphere at the finish. I then headed off for a shower and a 2 hour sleep before prize giving. So this is what’s it’s like to finish nearer the front. It seemed fitting that I’d experience this on what may be my last long ride ever. Because if my vision is not sorted, then that is what the Graperide Ultimate was.

So next is 5 weeks off the bike, and I honestly have no idea what is next. Additionally, at this stage I don’t really care. It is time for a well deserved break, with light spins before my yoga sessions 3 times a week. This will be my sporting life for a while. Maybe forever. Whether this is the journeys end or just the start will depend on discovering what is happening with my eye on those cold night rides. I only need about 3 hours sleep for them to come completely right, but since the Graperide Ultimate they have had a dull ache. As much as I love cycling...I love my vision far more.

If this is the end of the journey, then I have much to be thankful for. I have found my youth, fitness, and vigour for life like I have never experienced it, and look forward to a healthy and happy life thanks to cycling. I have also planned for and completed rides in the last 18 months that have changed the way in which I look at myself and those around me. From the early fearful moments at the start of the Taupo Enduro in 2007 where I simply promised myself if I just finished I’d never doubt myself again. To the Maxi Enduro in 2008 whereby I finished the event shattered, empty, but satisfied. And now finally the 5th Graperide finding me alone once again, but never lonely, and never once doubting myself.

I never did it alone though, and a genuine thank you goes to the following individuals and businesses...
***My beautiful wife Ruth. Who puts up with my moods after a ‘bad ride’, and tolerates my endless commentaries on how the ‘good rides’ went. (There is seldom a middle ground). Ruth your support crew efforts absolutely phenomenal at the Graperide, with no critiques or negative feedback. In fact, I may even go so far as to say that your efforts may have qualified you for being involved in an even bigger event later in the year. You may want to keep Friday 27 November clear on your schedule...

***Hammer Nutrition. Top products that I am more than happy to associate myself with. A big thank you to Rachael Button for not only providing perfect fuel for my rides, but for also giving superb advice every time I had a seemingly stupid question about nutrition on the bike. I look forward to another season with more of the same. (Note to self: Ask Rachael if they sell Hammer arm warmers, as it was way too cold through the Queen Charlotte!!).

***On Yer Bike Paraparaumu. Big thumbs up and thanks to Nigel Welch and his team on Rimu Road. The staff always seem to have a smile on their faces and find a way to get repairs done before ‘the next ride’. On a personal note, Nigel was kind enough to loan me his own bike as a spare bike for the Graperide Ultimate. This is a true measure of the commitment of a genuinely nice team. I look forward to promoting positive cycling in Kapiti with Nigel and his team next season.

***io Altitude Simulator. A big thanks to Bronwyn Jones at io for her support. Speaking as someone who suffers from (and used to suffer through!!) exercise induced asthma, the difference that io has made has been like night and day. I have faster recovery times, and pushing the pace on faster rides sees me simply blowing up...not feeling smashed for days afterwards. I recommend io to anyone looking to reach their potential.

***Finally, to those cyclists who chose to ride on the extended group rides that I planned for members of the Kapiti Cycling Club. Your attendance, camaraderie, and good humour meant a lot. Specifically, a genuine thank you to Sam King-Turner, John Robertson, Adrian McKenzie, Doug Barrett, Derek Ward, John Borthwick, Brian Bushe, Paul Rawlinson, and those who regularly attend the Kapiti 905’s outings. You have all made a bigger (positive) difference to my training than you’ll ever know.

I have ridden 12,610kms since the 2008 Graperide Magnum and it would be fair to say that a lot has changed since then. With my hopes of becoming a 'Maxi Enduro' cyclist fulfilled late last November my season’s high point would be reached halfway through the season. This was a double edged sword in some ways, with the biggest part of the season completed before Christmas and still to complete I had the 505km Graperide Ultimate event on the horizon 4 months later. This left me a little shell shocked at times, as I felt like I needed to do it all again, despite ‘the goal’ being accomplished already. But it all worked out, and as with cycling so often, all is well that ends well.

I will think about the journey ahead and whether I will follow the narrow path in the new season. In my thoughts will be a new question that has presented itself to me. Rather than "Can I??", is the question "Should I??". From my heart I can say that the realisation of reaching this point was a moment to treasure.

The official results of the 2009 Graperide Ultimate.

“It seemed fitting that when I also said, “This is almost as tough as Taupo”, the guys in the sign-in area couldn’t understand me.”

Finally then, in a season that will always be special, l have 2 lasting memories. It seems appropriate that they are both recalled from the 2008 Maxi Enduro...

Firstly, cycling between Turangi and Hatepe at about 7am (on Lap 3) of the Maxi Enduro. Totally shattered and losing self belief I questioned why I was doing the event and didn’t know how I was going to get over Hatepe on 2 more occasions. It was in those moments that a new bench mark of fatigued was found, with “Taupo tired”, meaning physical, mental, and spiritual emptiness. These rarefied moments made me stronger however, and I will carry throughout my life what I learnt about cycling and myself along that road late in November last year.

Finally , my other lasting memory of this season is standing on the shore at Taupo the evening before the Maxi Enduro. Looking out across the water I could see the shoreline surrounding the lake, with the most distant shores so far away they were partially obscured by the haze. Everything felt right and I announced that I was ready for the ‘Taupo Challenge’. The next day (during the ride) my 5 year old daughter asked my wife, "Is Daddy really going all the way around 4 times??". She was stunned by the confirmation of this, as many others may well have been, and truth be known as I once was.

The true lesson here is that you don't have to see the finish line to reach it. All you need is enough faith to believe it exists...along with the perseverance to keep pedalling until you reach your journeys end.

These were my experiences of the Graperide Ultimate, my season, and possibly my journey’s end as a long distance cyclist. Thank you for letting me share my thoughts with you.

Who knows what is next. I gave 100% though, and this is all I could ask of myself.

“Done 5 laps Stu??”. I simply replied, “Yep, and then some”. Pete then announced that I was now the only person to have completed 1,110kms over the 5 events.”

The End

The Detox

2009-04-13T11:25:00.004+12:00

One farmer says to me, "You cannot live on vegetable food solely, for it furnishes nothing to make bones with"; and so he religiously devotes a part of his day to supplying his system with the raw material of bones; walking all the while he talks behind his oxen, which, with vegetable-made bones, jerk him and his lumbering plow along in spite of every obstacle.
Henry David Thoreau (1817-62), U.S. philosopher.

Over Easter 2009 I did a 3 day detox. The intention of the detox was to cleanse my body after a long season on the bike, and to also draw a line in the sand as far as a new chapter of my life beginning. It ended up being so much more than this though.

The 3 day detox is from page 197 of Paul Jeffrey’s “Diary of a Fat Man”. Long story short he took a year off work and lost 64kg!! It is a good read, and most people could knock the book off in a couple of afternoons.

I fully expected to be hungry throughout the detox, but this was not the case, despite my caloric intake being just (an estimated) 50% to 60% of what I would normally have. It should be noted though, the purpose of this detox is not to ‘loss weight’. Starving yourself to get lighter is not sustainable or healthy, and I actually made a point of not weighing myself, as I don’t want to get into a mindset where I feel there are shortcuts to weight loss.

Despite having what I consider to be a fairly healthy diet, the 3 day detox left me looking at my relationship with food. I won’t dwell on this point too much, but a few observations are made below.

Tastes better than it looks...if you like beetroot.

Overview
Each day you can drink as much water as you like. (Distilled / filtered water is fine wish, but mine was simply tap water). You may also want to have peppermint tea (during the day) or chamomile tea (in the evenings). Other than that you stick to the ingredients to the letter. If a food is not listed then you don’t eat it. Also, try to make everything fresh (not canned food), and make sure you wash everything really well.

Day 1 – “Juice”
Carrots, celery, and beetroot. The ratio for juicing is 2:1:1. Drink 300mls every hour between approx 8am and 8pm. Make up juice as you go or (as I did) simply in a couple of batches. Expect to feel slightly hungry in the evening.

Day 2 – “Broth”
Same ingredients as Day 1, and you also add watercress, onions, parsley, ginger, cayenne pepper. (No salt!!). You may want to make this in smaller amounts and simply blend up the broth so there are no lumps. By the afternoon of Day 2 you will cherish any small lumps of vegetables carrot that are found and will find onion to hold more favour than you previously recall.

Day 3 – “Steamed”
Exactly the same ingredients as Day 2, but with cauliflower and broccoli added. Everything is steamed this time and you eat as you please. (No need to blend food). A small amount of extra virgin olive oil (which I don’t normally have) was recommended and went very nicely with the food. It is quite nice to almost be eating normally again, and I found my mouth was starting to feel like a bit of an ashtray by the end of Day 3.

In my opinion if you break it will be early evening on Day 2 or early evening on Day 3. Be careful for these times and don’t sit with others at meal times. (This said, I cooked dinner for my children with no problem).

You will be tempted and cravings will happen. Stick to the plan and you’ll be fine.

So what is our relationship with food?? We all need it and it would be a little fair fetched to say that food is a social construction (unlike alcohol). However the way in which we use food is socially constructed. I recall watching the food channel in the evening of Day 2, where they were cutting up a side of lamb for a large meal, and I thought, “Is this what we really do to animals??”. The need for protein via meat is (in my opinion) pretty essential, but I am now left wondering if it really has to be a part of most of my lunches and every single dinner I consume.

Thus it would be eventually transpire that the 3 day detox, like many experiences that enrich your life, left me with more questions than answers.

...and don’t forget the beetroot!! By the end of Day 3 you will pleased to finish.

It would seem fitting that a 3 day period which would see each day revolve around what I was consuming would leave me (within 24 hours) questioning how I ate. A few of the things I considered during the detox are listed below...

How I eat – Do I really need to eat until I am stuffed at every meal?? A portion should be the size of the palm of my hand...and this doesn’t include my fingers!!

What I eat – What are ‘treats’ anyway?? A food type does not become a reward for me just because a well thought out marketing campaign has stated I ‘deserved’ that specific product.

When I eat – Smaller meals, but more meals each day, will leave me feeling better. There is some evidence this can also increase the metabolic rate.

Why I eat – Is food eaten to live, or do I live to eat. Despite having a fairly good diet to start with I found myself heading for the kitchen every time I was bored. (No I didn’t give into temptation!!). I had previously looked at food as fuel, (as most cyclists probably do), but now also view food as the source of well being for my body.

Who I eat – Yep...‘Who’. That chicken breast, medium rare steak, or fish fillet used to be a living breathing creature. I now find myself asking the question, “Does my body need this??”, rather than “Hmmmm yummy”. There is nothing wrong with eating meat, but there maybe there is also nothing wrong with asking ourselves from time to time if we need to eat it.

Many of the above points were unexpected, with especially the last thought coming out of the blue. Each of us can only answer these questions for ourselves, but the experience needs to be lived through...not read about.

Let me know about your experiences if you try this detox.

Cheers,
Stu.

The Kapiti Challenge

2009-03-27T19:01:00.005+13:00

From - "Stepping Up", by Stu Downs.

Chapter 11 – The Kapiti Challenge

If a man does his best, what else is there?

General George S. Patton (1885-1945)

For my 51st lap of the 'Akatarawa Loop' I would not be pacing myself, and nor would I be aiming at an overnight or extended multi-lap ride. No. This outing would be the second shortest event I would ever have taken part in, with the 95kms meaning that an all out effort was required just to stay with those I would start with. Nice timing therefore that in the midst of a high intensity event I would not only be feeling decidedly cooked, but also would be not too well. My tapering therefore would be 3 days in bed asleep leading up to the Sunday outing.

There is another factor that had concerned leading up to the event. Apart from several Round Taranaki's, this would be my first mass start for an event since Taupo 2006. Yeah, the less said the better, but the 6:11 left me feeling rather underwhelmed about the occasion, and to sum up feelings of that day I can only say that my collection of race bib numbers does not include the 2006 Taupo Solo race number. This exact comment was to Adrian McKenzie on the Saturday evening, while I was still feeling 50/50 about actually making the effort to registrator the following day. Adrian wanted to see if I would be interested in writing chalk messages on Paekakariki Hill. I declined, (although I think the idea rocks!!), and truth be known I was asleep by 8pm that evening. While this outing would have little real baring on my later events, the self confidence that is gained or lost via these kinds of rides is never to be underestimated.

Waking at 6:30am I thought it best to go for it, and by 7:30am I was on the road. On the way to the event I chatted with Miles Davies. We both down played our respective chances, with my comment being that I’d be happy with 3:30. Frankly, I didn’t know if I would make it up Paekakariki Hill if I was to take the climb with an all out effort. So I registered and formulated a game plan. Stick with a respectable group until Paekakariki Hill, then ride the hill at 90-92% maximum HR, then stay with a group along SH58 and Hayward's Hill at 90-92% again. Then same again for SH2 and the Aka's. The day more less went along these lines, but I would need to dig deeper than expected.

With a 'neutralised start' the entire 440 riders would need to ride the first 2kms at approx 20kms per hour, with the flag then dropping. This left me in the (rather sizable) leading group. Along SH1 between Waikanae and Kapiti we touched on 45kms per hour for some sections, with this being into a head wind. Then, while on the 2 small climbs that followed, I noticed that the group had split. I would later learn that the variance in time between the leaders and the sag wagon was a full 15 minutes by Kapiti. This was of no concern to me at this stage however, and it would be fair to say I was hanging onto the tail end of the group as we rode over the bridge heading into Kapiti.

On the climb up Paekakariki Hill. (Image remains the property of http://www.nesport.co.nz/)

Shortly after the Kapiti lights intersection the group split again. I had worked my way slightly up the group, and just as well too, as I now found myself second from front of a group that was now rapidly losing ground to the leaders. I knew I would lose ground on each of the hills, so I had to back myself now...or simply sit up as the rider in front of me had done. Passing those around me I pushed very hard and got to within 20 meters of the leading group. With a glance at my HR I noted it was on 99% max, and reminded myself that this was only the second time I had ever had it this high.

No giving up now though. I got out of the saddle and went for it. No one had followed me, so I knew I wasn’t dragging anyone else through with me. In short, my efforts would benefit me alone and in a way this spurred me on. Reaching the leading group I enjoyed a brief reprieve. Then, in the moments to follow I remembered why I love cycling so much. Like seeing a long lost love for the first time in a long time I felt filled a swell of happiness. Cycling can be a love hate relationship at times. In my experience those events that you look back on the most fondly are those you suffered the most during. The discomfort on this outing was unique however. I have a 5 week break after the Graperide 'Ultimate' and relished the opportunity simply live in the moment of cycling. It was like a stolen handheld walk.

MacKay’s Crossing came and went, and about 500 meters before Paekakariki Hill I eased up slightly and my HR fell to 90%. This was my target HR for the hill. Knowing that I’d be caught by the chasing group, I felt relieved I had made the extra effort to stay with the leaders, as I’d get to the summit feeling better than many of those around me and I could push on if need be. This ended up being the case, with me giving extra effort over the top and down the initial descent. The ascent however will be remembered for my resentment of those who passed me. I hate being passed on hills. Something about it is just not right. Each person who passed me was a reminder of my need to improve my power to weight ratio. (This will be addressed after the Graperide Ultimate).

Something else happened as I crossed the summit and started my first descent of the day. I had James Blunt's 'Tears and Rain' start going through my head. Now, if it had not started raining several minutes later that probably would have been the end of it, but with heavy rain the song just went over and over...and over. So it was, descending in a group growing rapidly in both size and speed, I would have a smile from ear to ear feeling the rain fall around us. To cycle in the rain is a treasured privilege and while many do not see this, few would argue that we were all at one with the world during much of the remainder of our outing. Oddly, I never had a feeling of getting wet from the rain...simply of being in it.

On the descent down from the Aka's summit. (Images remain the property of www.nesport.co.nz)

The paced eased off slightly along SH58 and the reprieve increased our groups numbers. The following hill (yep the Hayward’s) saw most of my group break away from me. My new group of 5 was now looking to make the most of the situation, now heading north, along SH2. We couldn’t have done too badly though, as we had a group of about 8 just behind us at the bottom of the Hayward’s Hill and we weren’t caught until the turnoff for the Aka's climb.

Through the Aka's the game plan was to hold 87-88% max HR throughout the climb, and if this meant I was passed by others then so be it. I have tried to hold 90% a couple of times, but this left me blowing up 10/12 minutes from the summit each time, with my eventual overall being longer. Finally then I would get to chat to people and the interaction made a pleasant changed from simply watching the wheel of the bike in front of me. Scott Turner (from 805's) commented that he was starting to get cramp. I gave him some of my remaining (Hammer) Endurolyte tablets and he said they helped.

I can also attest to the tablets working. With the descent over I had just a single small climb and then a tailwind to the finish. I gave the hill heaps...and cramped. Bugger. I was passed by about 4 riders and finished the remaining tablets. Things came right pretty quickly, and I then sat on 45-48kms until the finish.

Finishing in a time of 3:11, I was placed 170th of the 440 starters, and 67th of approx 125 starters in my category. Not bad for someone who has been rundown and felt fairly cooked leading up to the ride. I can honestly say that I would have been hard pressed to get a faster time. Everything was ridden as well as could have been. A positive day it was then, with a better ride for similar terrain if I lose 4-5kg, so this is a plan post-Graperide. Man I hate being passed on climbs...

"The Cutoff" - 9am Saturday 4 April (If Lap 5 is not started, then i'm eliminated from the Graperide).

Finally then, with 12 days to go before the Graperide, I remembered that I truly love my sport. Not because of my times or placings. But through the suffering and struggling, and sometimes trying to recall why I bother at all, I am reminded that I am at my most centered while on my bike. Cycling is my drug of choice. If this is my lot then I look forward to the road ahead, with sunrises while climbing Kuratau, sunsets through the Akatarawa's, and family holidays planned around yearly campaigns to Taupo and the Graperide. Most of all I look forward to starting the 'last lap' alongside those who are starting their first. If you know of a better life...then send me a postcard.

"Tears And Rain" (By James Blunt)

How I wish I could surrender my soul; Shed the clothes that become my skin; See the liar that burns within my needing. How I wish I'd chosen darkness from cold. How I wish I had screamed out loud, Instead I've found no meaning.

I guess it's time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain, All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble. Hides my true shape, like Dorian Gray. I've heard what they say, but I'm not here for trouble. It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain.

How I wish I could walk through the doors of my mind; Hold memory close at hand, Help me understand the years. How I wish I could choose between Heaven and Hell. How I wish I would save my soul. I'm so cold from fear.

I guess it's time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain, All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble. Hides my true shape, like Dorian Gray. I've heard what they say, but I'm not here for trouble. Far, far away; find comfort in pain. All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble. It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain.

Tears and Rain.

Tears and Rain.

Far, far away; find comfort in pain, All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble. It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain.

Aka's Double Loop #1

2009-03-18T18:41:00.004+13:00

From - "Stepping Up", by Stu Downs.

Chapter 9 - Aka's Double Loop #1

If everything seems under control, you're just not going fast enough.

Mario Andretti

The Aka's Double Loop is where it all began really. My first Aka's loop was in April 2006, and the first Double Loop was in September 2007. On my first Double Loop I had doubts in my mind (about both the Aka's Double Loop and also the Taupo 2 lapper) as I headed off, and completed the 2 laps with a net time of just over 9:12. Not exactly fast stuff. The loop in many ways laps acted as a marker for me in terms of my training, with the larger events often having laps of this loop interspersed into my training to ensure I had some honest hill work thrown in for good measure.

I would be riding with John Robertson on this outing, and at the completion of Lap 1 we would be meeting our regular Kapiti 805's group, with the group riding Lap 2 with us. Needing to be back in Kapiti by 8am we departed at 3:40am, and this early start would mean that the rules of night would apply to the first few hours of this ride. This would be the first time since Taupo that I would be riding at night, and with it being the only night riding before the Graperide Ultimate event I thought it best to make an honest assessment of my efforts in the dark, with any nervous problems most likely leading to more of the same before April's outing.

Overall it went well though, with the Graperide's overnight riding (which will encompass approximately 40% of the ride) looking on track. "On track" is more than can be said for the drunken individuals I passed while cycling to Coastland's (being spoken to by Police in a children's playground), and also making their way home at approx 6am as we passed through the Hutt area. Perhaps it was the nature of the way we were starting the day, or maybe I simply have an awareness of how much better my life is without alcohol, but seeing those individuals (literally) staggering home was a little sobering. Paekae. Hill and the Hayward's Hill were taken pretty easily.

Just incase you had any doubts about Paek. Hill being steep!!

I commented to John that the night was very similar to what we had encountered for Taupo last year, with it also being highlighted to John that the Graperide will not have these (relatively) balmy conditions. "Have clothing that will suit a frosty morning", was essentially the message. I guess at the pace the Magnum riders go it doesn't matter though, as they'll be tapping out 40kms per hour, and holding the wheel of the rider in front will be at the fore of any thoughts...not cold temperatures. Along SH2 I was a little concerned that the pace would be too low. After all, I am targeting a higher intensity at the moment on the longer rides. Was this a foolish plan?? Would I end up doing 2 slow laps??

The concerns were unfounded though, with John sitting on my wheel the entire way along SH2. In fact, with it still pitch dark as we started through the Aka's John passed me. Specifically, this was at the switchback just before the cemetery. Seemingly the flag had dropped, and the next 15 minutes were spent with me following John on the gradual climb, until he finally (and thankfully!!), announced "I don't know if I can go any faster". The pace after that was only slightly slower. So it was, as the sun was rising, that we reached the summit of the Aka's and mutually decided to descend 'at pace', but also at our own respective top speed. I turned back for John once the road levelled out and estimate he was only a minute behind me.

Reaching Kapiti at 7:40am John and myself decided to do a 10km loop around Kapiti to avoid falling into the trap of simply stopping and chatting. Keeping the momentum going on these rides is paramount. So we tapped out the 10km circuit around 18 minutes and got back in time to change clothes and give the ride briefing. After a quick change of clothing, and an even quicker ride briefing, we departed. Lap 2 had a very simple approach. Reach the summit of every climb and then turn around and cycle back down (going further than the slowest cyclist) and ascend so you reach the top at the same time as the last rider.

I pushed the pace on every climb, sitting on 85% maximum HR and this continued until about half way through the Aka's, where the legs went, leaving me at 77-78% maximum HR for my top intensity. It was through the Aka's that the pace really caught up with me. I had the will to push the pace, but the legs were pretty much had it. It also tweaked a muscle behind my knee near the summit, (which has been 100% ok since), but this another sign that the outing had been anything but '2 slow laps'. Getting to the summit everyone else had gone, with the temperature getting too cold for those who had arrived there first. I enjoyed a good descent with Greg Cundy, and we both circled back for the slower cyclists once we reached the base of the Aka's. Along the way much was discussed about cycling, the Kapiti Cycling Club, and future goals.

Eventually the miles ran out, and with everyone turning off to their respective areas of Kapiti. My total distance ended up being 210kms. Hats off to John, with a top effort and a great attitude. A few days after the Aka's Double Loop I took part in the weekly Waikanae Crit (for the third week in a row). I have recently introduced the weekly Waikanae Crits into my training, and the evening on this occasion would effectively be the last Crit of the season. About halfway through Lap 5, (while sitting on a wind assisted 50kms per hour), I lost contact with my group and needed to go onto Plan C for the remainder of the race. (Plan A and Plan B assumed I was actually still with my group!!).

Needless to say, the bigger rides from recent weeks finally caught up on me. Upon crossing the finish line, changed down gears, and simply carried on cycling until home. I figured, to go along with my humble pie, I finished the evening with apple pie. It is funny how in a single day things can go downhill so quickly, and I wasn't back on the bike until the following Sunday. It seems that so much of life is based on self confidence.

So what's happening after the Graperide Ultimate?? No idea...

Oddly, over the next couple of days several cyclists approached me, gleefully pointing out that they finished ahead of me in the Crit. This was possibly the highlight in an otherwise utterly forgettable week, as I actually considered both individuals to be better cyclists than myself, but their surprise at finishing ahead of me has told me that the feeling was obviously mutual. I know for sure that only a year ago this perception would not have existed.

Finally then, the Aka's Loop needs a last mention. On this outing I would have my 49th and 50th laps of the Aka's circuit since I started cycling. It would seem fitting that I felt pretty much turned inside out as I reached the summit on the 50th lap of the Akatarawa's. Reaching the top I did what I knew I needed to, and turned the bike around without stopping, to repeat the last 15 minutes of the climb. This last climb of the day saw me get pretty tired, it may even be said "Taupo Tired", but I knew that unlike that first trip around the Aka's 3 years ago, this time I needed to keep pushing the pace...because the clock won't stop for the 9am cut-off at the Graperide.

The Wairarapa Loop

2009-03-06T17:12:00.003+13:00

From - "Stepping Up", by Stu Downs.

Chapter 7 - The Wairarapa Loop

Whether you think that you can, or that you can't, you are usually right.

Henry Ford (1863-1947)

So it was that I walked in the door and the usual, "How did it go??", was simply met with, "...oh dear". Caked in a layer of sweat and dirt I was feeling pretty exhausted, but I had to be happy, having pushed the pace until I popped. This outing would end up being slightly longer than the Taupo Enduro, and what transpired made for a memorable day...

Oddly, the early start of 5am was to follow a rather vivid dream about Taupo. There I was, standing at the start line at the Taupo Solo (first indication that this was not my reality), and everyone was staring at my helmet - And the lack of a race number being affixed to it. A few people then commented at how sorry they felt about me not taking part in the event...and I realised that I had forgotten to enter. There it was then, that I watched everyone ride away without me. I woke up shortly thereafter and seeing it was 4:48am put the pillow over my head.

The plan for the ride was simple in terms of others joining me. A communiqué had gone out, and several others had expressed an interest in doing the ride, but essentially I would be leaving at 6am and if others showed up, then great, otherwise I'd go it alone. No dramas either way. As I was leaving the house Sam King-Turner arrived, looking pretty eager to get the day started. A quick check of lights and we were away.

Sam had commented how much he wanted to do the ride so I knew he'd be in for the duration. So it was then, that we stopped at SH1 and waited for the cars to pass before heading south. I noticed that Sam had the exact same shoes as myself, and additionally he also rode an Avanti. The similarities seemed to end about there though. Sam is our club's top cyclist, and while I am thoroughly proud of my exploits over the last couple of years, Sam has a resume that includes the Tour of Southland, the Tour of Wellington, and NZ Nationals. This may not carry any meaning, so in real terms I would be riding alongside (but more often than not behind) someone who has raced against New Zealand's top road cyclists, including Julian Dean. (Who participates in the Tour de France every year).

I knew the circuit however, and a knowledge of the course profile would come in handy. Sam was advised fairly early on that hills were to be taken very easily, but the flat sections were fair game. I have actually ridden the Wairarapa Loop on 2 previous occasions. The first time in a solo 3 day ride, and the second time over 2 days. In fact, this ride represented my second longest ride ever. However, in the week leading up this outing I actually gave the ride very little thought. I had a chest that was wheezy, and was on the bike for just 2.5 hours the week before this ride. The outing would therefore be a true test of my resolve to get the job done.

Sam leading in the Waikanae Crit - Late 2008. (He won on both handicap and scratch time).

Paekakariki Hill and the Haywoods Hill both came and went, with an easy pace. SH2 was not the enjoyable stroll I normally encounter and this would mark the last time on this outing that I would lead out Sam at any point. It was obvious by now that my breathing needed to be sorted and I felt pretty blocked up. As I commented to Sam, "The Rimutakas will finish me off or will clear me out". I was fine by about halfway up the hill. Sam made a point of keep well away while excess 'nose dirt' was sprayed all over the road. Pretty disgusting, but cycling does carry with it a differing set of social norms.

The descent down the Rimutaka's went well, although speaking as a fairly tidy descender (if I must say so myself), I am yet to workout how Sam could go faster than me while not pedalling, (he weighs 10kg less than me). We both passed a car on the way down, and my concern about the legs going flat once off the hill was for nothing as we got back into the swing of things as Masterton got closer.

In fact, the pace was pretty hot. (Well, I thought it was until our chat in Masterton). My normal HR training zone on a longer ride is 70-75% max HR on the flat, with the focus being to stay near the top of the range. (For the Taupo Maxi Enduro it was just 68-72%). This outing had me on 78-83% and while this never effected my breathing I really wondered how long I'd hold this pace. In real terms we were holding 30-32kms per hour on flat sections. (There was no wind).

When in Masterton I told Sam I had electrolyte tablets (to stop cramping) and if he wanted any he was welcome to them. "With the intensity being this low I doubt I'll cramp no matter how long we're out for", was the reply from Sam. I seldom bluff on rides, so informed him that I was right on the edge. He looked startled, but I quickly said to keep the pace up, as I needed to do this ride out of my comfort zone.

So where DO they get the water from...??

To say that the day's weather was perfect would not be an exaggeration. Apart from about 10 minutes of burning direct sunlight while stopping in Masterton, the remainder of the day had slight cloud about at all times. This said, there were basically no winds, and the cool start to the day didn't last long, leaving a pleasant temperature for the outing. Case at point, when we topped up our water at the Tui factory you'd think it was the height of summer. The place was heaving, and we were treated like a couple of lepers for not ordering a pint and bar meal like the other 70-80 patrons in the area. It must be said though, that the sight of the brown algae covered water did nothing for my desire for frequent consumption of water.

About 90 minutes out from Woodville we were enjoying a chat and (with flashing lights) a Police car pulled up next to us. My initial thought was the thought of us getting a ticket (or telling off) for not riding single file, but the cop wanted a debrief on the ride to date. "Where did you start??", "Kapiti". "Where do you finish??", "Kapiti". "What time did you start??", "6am". "How long are you riding for??", "All day". As I said to Sam afterwards, we should have got them to go ahead and top up our drinks.

We then went through the second of 3 sets of road works we'd pass through on the day. With extended sections of gravel we were fortunate to have no punctures on the ride. It should be said though that the two sets of traffic lights through the gorge were brilliant, as it meant no cars flying past as normally happens.

The ride through Palmerston North went well, and with just a final push onto home required we were left with a feeling of having just about got the job done. About 5 minutes after turning south onto SH1 I pretty much blew up. So I lasted 270kms at a moderate pace. The legs felt much better after this, as the pace was considerably slower.

I commented to Sam shortly after Levin that we'd be stopping at a fruit stand. Sam said that we had just passed a fruit stand, but as I pointed out, it was about 30 metres off the main road...and I wasn't cycling that far out of my way!! Half a dozen nectarines went down very well.

A map of the circuit we followed.

Just north of Waikanae Sam turned off for his place. I then continued on alone, and got home enjoying a slower pace and comfortable speed. The final distance was 326kms, with the net time being 12:10. Not a bad pace, with the section from Palmerston North to Kapiti only taking 10 minutes longer than it did 2 weeks earlier on the (200km) group ride. It must be said that spirits were good on the ride and even when I announced that I was "poked" we had a laugh about the situation. (In hindsight, I hope that was Sam laughing with me...not at me!!).

So it is, in the midst of thoroughly looking forward to both the Graperide, (and equally having a month off the bike), I must remember what I have experienced this season. To be honest it would be easy to walk away from cycling right now. I say this not feeling tired (or discouraged) by the sport. I just feel like I've achieved what I have aimed for. Additionally, I seldom relish the smaller moments that make cycling special. Somewhere along the way the Taupo multi-laps (and multiple overnight training rides) have pushed into the background simple enjoyments like the wind on my face being a highlight of a ride. Numbers and heart rate zones have come to the fore during this time.

This said however, the thought of Taupo happening without me is utterly incomprehensible. That moment of starting the 'Final Lap' with the masses is truly unique, and in some ways that very moment acts as a finish line of sorts. After being last to be picked for all of those years I find myself stared at for all of the right reasons. That feeling is rather seductive. I know now that I need to reassess what I want from this point, with a decision to follow at the start of May.

If truth be known I need a new challenge after the Graperide, and the only challenge that captures my imagination is so big that I (literally) feel tired just thinking about it. So I will think about the road ahead, and whether I will follow the narrow path. I'll also try to remind myself that to be able to know who I want to be on the bike...I'll firstly need to define myself off it.